


Finding things you weren't looking for

by TalinMirengo



Series: The adventures of the three cousins [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Fix-It (no welcoming drink on Teer Fradee), Friendship, Love, M/M, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalinMirengo/pseuds/TalinMirengo
Summary: The three cousins Constantin, Amalia and Emile are known for one thing: their unwavering unity. Against the intrigues of the court, against unpleasant impulses of their guardians and against anyone who tries to harm one of them. Kurt, their former master of arms, has often enough witnessed them defending each other, protecting each other or getting each other out of trouble. When they are now sent to the island of Teer Fradee to find a cure for the Malichor, whose grip on the continent is growing tighter and tighter, their abilities are put to the test and things they took for granted turn out to be illusions. It turns out that even years of expensive lessons cannot prepare them for what they find on this island.
Relationships: De Sardet/Vasco (GreedFall), Kurt/De Sardet (GreedFall), Kurt/Female De Sardet, Vasco (GreedFall)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The adventures of the three cousins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659880
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Kurt – The three greenhorns

**Author's Note:**

> Zu einer deutschen Version geht's [hier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095429/chapters/55253638) entlang.

**Four years ago**

The captain lifted his mug to his lips before taking another strong sip and tried to ignore the growing voices in another corner of the tavern behind him. Kurt didn't often get the chance to see his comrades. After all the years he had already served in the palace and thus neither at the front nor in the garrison, the distance between him and his former comrades was now palpable. Nevertheless he came here – he was still part of the guard and as long as comrades were found who drank and played with him, it was enough for him.

"And you really don't want to break them up?" Radolf inquired. He was a few years younger than Kurt, but he hadn't been wet behind the ears for a long time. Unlike the two Kurt tried to ignore. They still didn't know when it was enough. But they were adults. At least in theory.

"He's off duty. Let them", Irmgard replied. She was about half a dozen years older than Kurt and belonged to those who did not distance herself from him just because his duties included marching day and night behind the three noble cousins from the palace. When he wasn't teaching them how to use weapons himself.

Those very three nobles, Amalia, Constantin and Emile, had entered the tavern about an hour ago. It was possible that they had even been given permission to come here. But considering their clothes – which still looked expensive but were simpler than what they usually wore and the absence of a bodyguard, Kurt guessed it was the second. Just as he was pretty sure that Constantin and Amal had persuaded their cousin, who was just barely still under age, to come along. When the soldier had met the three of them almost eight years ago, he had quickly noticed the quiet nature of Emile. And that even at the age of eleven, he had sometimes sounded like a fifty-year-old. At least he had not been picked on. Green Blood – as Kurt called him – had often been the target of ridicule from early childhood because of a strange greenish mark on his left lower jaw. It started just below the ear, ran down the jaw and extended almost to the chin. Some of its extensions reached to the cheek, others down to the neck. Today he hid it behind the high collar of a cloak, which the mercenary had seen when the three of them had stepped in.

The guardsman continued to check his cards before deciding to play the lowest picture, still trying to ignore the swelling voices in his back. Eventually, the three of them did the same – assuming that his students had simply not seen him. They probably didn't expect him to be here. Perhaps it would be his job to bring the three back to the palace, but after weeks of visiting the de Portaus estate with them, he desperately needed a night off. Which only worked partially, considering that his three protégés, for whose safety he was responsible during his service, were also here.

"So you really want to stick to your statement," he heard Amal's voice follow. She had turned twenty a few weeks ago, which theoretically meant she was of age according to the laws of the Congregation of Merchants. In practice, her temperament went through her almost as often as it did at twelve. Although the soldier had by now gained the impression that she allowed herself to be like that. She could control herself if she so wished. But it seemed that this was almost never the case.

"What? Does he need a girl to defend himself?" replied a deep voice. The mercenary knew without even turning around that it belonged to a brutish guy whose shoulders were almost twice as broad as those of Amal. The Guardsman had glanced in her direction for a moment when he had noticed that someone had thrown a snide remark at Constantin, but his relatives had rushed to his aid immediately. Whereby Emile had become more and more quiet – Amal's and his negotiating style seldom matched.

"He does not – but I do hate it when others pick on him," she replied, not sounding the least bit intimidated. Kurt was not surprised – with the exception of Constantin's parents, nobody seemed to have this effect on her and even they were often enough confronted by her. And not infrequently on occasions when even the soldier thought it wiser not to do so. As soon as the prince and his wife found out where the three of them were staying tonight, such a situation would happen again, he was quite sure.

"He must be good in bed," the guy returned.

This time his statement made the mercenary turn his head slightly to make it easier to hear them. But he didn't look over at them yet. The three had been accused of sleeping with one another several times in the past. Kurt knew that there was nothing to the rumours. Those who made such claims simply did not understand the connection between the three. Moreover, the guard was pretty sure that the man did not know who he was dealing with, nor that the three were related to each other.

"Really, my friends..." Constantin tried to defuse the situation, but his cousin interrupted him.

"Perhaps you and I should take this outside," she suggested, sounding as if she was explaining the way to her counterpart.

"Ouh, that could be interesting," Irmgard said and Kurt gave her a look, but she looked over his shoulder in the direction of the greenhorns. The soldier laid his cards face down on the table before he turned around on his chair as well.  
The guy who had first called Constantin a clumsy weakling and then started an argument with Amal had meanwhile risen and stood up in front of her. He was almost one and a half heads taller than she was, so the young woman had to put her head a little way down her neck to look at him. On her lips lay a slight smile. She still did not take the whole thing seriously.

"I mean – it could be that you get back in on your own," she added and grinned at her counterpart.

The other one stopped for a moment. He probably needed a wink to realize that the noblewoman had just admitted that her chances against him were not very good. Which meant that she was still not off the hook. First the guy had to realize that she had given in.

But Amal upped the ante when she turned around and shouted across the now almost silent taproom: "Innkeeper! A round for everyone and a double for my new friends here!"

Then enthusiastic shouts rang out from all corners and the brutish man opposite her seemed to finally understand that she was just apologizing. Kurt tilted his head slightly. Maybe she was becoming something like an adult after all. He was about to turn around when he saw the guy lunged out and landed his hand on Amalia's bottom with a good pat.

"Ha! I like that chick," he barked out.

The young woman, on the other hand, froze for a moment in her movements. Kurt knew she was no child of innocence. Her affairs were well known at court and even if he had not heard about them, Amal had not hesitated to talk openly with her cousins during the breaks from training about who she was targeting, who was courting her or who she had just 'conquered', as she called it. And yet for a moment this gesture was too much for him. Though it was not up to him who looked at her and how. As long as no one got seriously physical.

As quickly as Amal had paused, the smile returned to her lips, but this time it was calculating as she slowly shook her head and turned back to the guy who was still challenging her – though now in a completely different way. He was probably a good ten years her senior. Kurt had never understood how people of that age could believe that someone so much younger saw something in them.  
"So that's how you meet women?" she asked in a soft voice as she reached for his left with her right hand and put her other hand on his cheek, only to let it wander down to his neck and take another step towards him.  
"Works just fine," the guy returned, grinning smugly.

For the blink of an eye Kurt thought she wanted to defuse this thing in a completely different way but then she let her fingers wander along the neckline of the tunic to the other shoulder and the soldier realized what she would do next.  
"Then I will tell you a secret," she added, standing on her toes. Her counterpart turned his head slightly to one side and brought his ear to her lips. Amal took advantage of his distraction, stepping back quickly, twisting his arm and exerting pressure on his shoulder, turning his upper body to the side and a blink of an eyelid later colliding with the tabletop, while she continued to control his arm with the lever.

"There are exactly two women on this continent who like to be addressed like this by men," she added much louder, bending slightly over her victim: "Your sister and your mother!"

The man snorted and his breathing accelerated.

"Uh... she didn't get that from you, did she?" Irmgard asked Kurt.

"The handle – yes. The other one – no," Kurt just replied. He didn't have the time to add that Amalia had already been so brazen when he had taken over the training of the three of them, because at that moment, greenhorn number two spoke up: "Well, there should be three, shouldn't there?"

Of course. Had there been any chance to solve the whole thing quietly before, the chance was over now. Normally, Constantin was able to maneuver his way out of difficulties, but still he managed again and again not to recognize when to use this training in diplomacy and whatever they learned in their other lessons, and when not. Kurt grabbed his mug and emptied it before he put it back on the table behind him without looking over his shoulder.

"Who are you talking about?" Amal digged in and looked at her cousin.

"His grandmother. Somewhere his mother must have it from," he replied, smiling as if he had just made a harmless joke. And then chaos erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> GreedFall is half a year old today, I thought this is a good reason to celebrate it with an upload :) The story is published in two languages, whereas german is my mother tongue. I do the translations with DeepL and my good friend Kukolnyy proofreads it. All other mistakes that slip into the text are on my head. Let me know if you discover any more.  
> Actually the main pairing was planned to be Vasco and male de Sardet. Then I thought I would play a female de Sardet in the second round. In short - Amalia knocked everything over. So: Sorry, to all those who hoped for an M/M main pairing. Nevertheless, there's something coming to the two of them, of course. The first five chapters are finished and I will upload them on a weekly basis.  
> Last but not least: A big thank you to [Kukolnyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelinyaValerian/pseuds/Kukolnyy) for the editing and of course for the fact that I can always come around the corner with any idea for any story and Kukolnyy is always interested and thinking about it. The contributions are great and I draw a lot of strength and inspiration from them. Another thank you goes to my friend Aria, who let me tell her everything, and I mean everything about Kurt and the three cousins. Only to still become my beta reader in German and to read through everything again.  
> Thanks guys, this story wouldn't be what it is without you and also not what it will become :)  
> Last but not least: I translate the notes here with DeepL and my more or less good skills.


	2. Emile – Brawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your kudos :)  
> I forgot a very important thank you when I uploaded the first chapter: Without [Telana](https://www.fanfiktion.de/u/Telana) I probably wouldn't have heard of GreedFall. So also a big thank you to you, dear Telana :)  
> A few months ago I came across a song – and then these first three chapters were born. It goes by the title [Kneipenschlägerei](https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=kneipenschl%C3%A4gerei) (which means tavern brawl). You can guess for yourselves why it was the inspiration ^^ I'm not to fond of the video itself, but quite fond of the lyrics and the tune.  
> And now: Enjoy reading!

**Four years ago**

He had suspected that this trip had been a bad idea. But Constantin and Amalia had been looking forward to it so much. After all the weeks they had spent together with the de Portau family, it was hardly surprising that both of them had wanted to escape the court once more. And in and of itself, Emile had no problem moving around the city. But it had rarely turned out well when they had escaped from the palace without permission. Amalia had scouted out the way, as she had done so often – her ability to get through the corridors of the palace unseen was impressive. When the three of them would get together in the evening because one of them was worrying about something or otherwise unable to sleep, it was she who stole wine from the cellar while Constantin took care of some food from the kitchen.

And Emile had hoped that tonight could be another of such evenings. But then his cousin had suggested that they go to the tavern of the Guard. There had been a fire weeks ago. But in the meantime, the damage had been repaired and everything went its usual course, as far as the young nobleman could judge.

At least until Malia had insisted that this man repeat aloud the remark he had made about Constantin behind his back, and that he should look her in the face while doing so. After that... things had started to pick up speed, although for a moment it still looked as if the evening would end peacefully after all. Amalia had ordered a round for everyone and Emile took the liberty of breathing a sigh of relief. Until the big guy's hand had landed on his cousin's buttocks and she had pushed him onto the table with the help of a lever.

When Constantin then added a snide remark about the man's grandmother, while Amalia had been too distracted and had loosened the lever, the situation had escalated. The guy had straightened up as quick as an arrow, pushing Malia off him, who had staggered back. Still, she had managed to avoid the first blow from him. Even the second. But then Constantin had been pushed and stumbled into her. Both had gone down and the guy had come towards them – as well as some of his friends, who had also risen from the table in the mean time. Other tavern visitors had got up and started to line up near the scene.

Emile's relatives tried to get on their feet, but they would be too slow. The guy already swung out with his foot to make it crash into Malia's side. At that moment Emile let his magic flow. The attacker froze in mid-movement as purple streaks flitted across his body, holding him in place.

"A mage!" a woman let out diagonally in front of said mage. She looked around searching – apparently she hadn't noticed who had cast the spell.

Some others also looked around, but at this moment, Constantin stood up.

"My friends – no need to get violent," he let himself be heard and raised his hands in a calming gesture. If only he had thought of it earlier...

Again someone pushed him, but this time he caught himself. He quickly turned to the person and dodged the next blow from the woman who had been sitting at the guy's table a few moments earlier.

Meanwhile Emile had to struggle with the fact that this very man was resisting the magic. The young nobleman was still able to hold him, but he felt his connection to him diminish. And it didn't get any easier because his eye contact was briefly interrupted when someone pushed past the statue-like fellow and attacked Amalia.

Before Emile knew it, it got loud and he himself was shoved aside as more onlookers pushed past him. His concentration broke and the guy let out a scream when the rigor fell off him.

"Who is that dirty little Thélèmer?!", it escaped him and his gaze wandered through the tavern.

Magically gifted people actually only existed in Thélème, a strictly religious nation with which the merchants had an alliance. Emile was the exception within the Congregation of Merchants as far as he knew.

The man's gaze touched Emile, but it did not seem as if it would give him an idea who could cast magic here. Nevertheless, shortly afterwards the fellow stumbled forward and a blink of an eye later the young nobleman realized that his female cousin had jumped on his back.

"Well – is this how you imagined your riding trip today?", she yelled at him, while trying to squeeze the air out of him. Which, given the circumference of his neck, Emile thought was a bad idea.

Then he saw someone sneaking up behind Constantin and lifting a mug over his head. Again, Emile let his magic flow and the person froze in the middle of the movement. His cousin didn't even notice what was happening because he still avoided the fists of the woman, who had been joined by another man in the meantime. The tall fellow turned quickly and tried to throw Amalia off, but she had clasped her feet around his chest. Even though her legs did not reach all the way around.

Someone tugged at her and finally she fell to the ground. When the first attacker threw himself onto her, Emile made him pause again right in the air. Malia, her face turned to the ceiling, grinned when she realized that she would not be buried right under this guy, rolled to the side and quickly got back on her feet. Her gaze wandered through the crowd, finding Emile and she nodded at him, smiling.

"That's the Thélèmer!", someone let out, and before the young nobleman knew it, someone pushed again to the right of him, and immediately he was shoved back just before the woman who had discovered him reached him.

A man stood in front of Emile, a little taller than himself and with broader shoulders. Unlike most of the people in the taproom, his posture was upright, calm and somehow familiar.

"Hey! He's playing foul," the woman's voice came to Emile's ears and he raised his eyes. She tried to push herself past the man in front of Emile, but he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

"He is off limits. Find someone else," he replied in a dark voice before he conducted her back. Emile knew this tone of voice...

The woman gave the mage another angry look over his shoulder, but then she was pushed to the side. Meanwhile half of the taproom seemed to take part in the brawl. Nevertheless the young man tried to get next to those in front of him.

"Kurt!" he shouted over the rising noise. Some were cheering for the fighters – although Emile didn't really know who exactly they were cheering for. The screams were too inarticulate and too many of too much different content.

His master of arms briefly took a look out of the corner of his eye before he looked at the bystanders again. At this moment Constantin went down, but he quickly got back on his feet.

"Won't you intervene?" Emile inquired, but he had to keep on shouting to drown out the commotion.

"I already do. I'll see to it that the wise one of you doesn't get involved", the guardsman returned.

Emile's gaze flew back to his two relatives. Meanwhile Malia had to deal with three opponents, one of whom was still the big guy. She ducked away under another blow, but she didn't see one of them coming from behind. This time Emile was too slow and instead caught someone behind the attacker, who then froze in motion.

"But... they could get hurt," he objected when he saw Amalia's face distorted but only shook briefly and then started to attack.

"They are learning a lesson right now that I can' t teach you in training," Kurt countered.

At that moment the young nobleman noticed two other figures coming towards him. Again the soldier pushed himself in front of him, got hold of the first one, turned her quickly around her own axis and pushed her back towards the hustle and bustle where Emile immediately lost sight of her. The second attacker was brought to the ground by the guardsman using a similar lever that Malia had used at the beginning.

"Things are getting uncomfortable. Get out," the mercenary said, and shortly after that Emile noticed an arm around his shoulder and Kurt was dragging him towards the door.

"But the others...", he tried to object, but the guardsman cut him off: "You first. I can't look after all of you at once."

A blink of an eye later, the young nobleman stumbled to the side when someone had fallen halfway against Kurt, almost throwing them both off balance. But the master of arms prevented them from going down at the last moment. Which, given the increasing narrowness, would certainly not have had a good outcome.

Finally the door came within reach, even though the soldier pulled him back again. Someone staggered past the mage towards the taproom. Emile didn't know if he was plunging back into the turmoil, because Kurt pushed him through the door into the open. The noise got quiter a bit as the door closed behind them. The young nobleman turned around and saw his master of arms leaning with his back against the wood and looking at him. The lanterns at the entrance made the scars, which ran diagonally through his right eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose and the guard's lips, seem even deeper, giving the mercenary a grim expression, to which the determined gaze from the steel-grey eyes added to the effect. Nevertheless, this man meant safety for Emile and his cousins. He had been teaching them for eight years on the different weapons and was their bodyguard, who had fought more than one battle for them.

"I will go in and get the others. Might take a while. You stay here. If anyone comes out, stay out of their way," he told him. Emile nodded, then the soldier disappeared back inside. For the moment the door was open, the shouts echoed loudly out into the night before being muffled again. The young man took a few steps to the side and dropped his back against the wall. Only now did he feel that his knees were turning to jelly. If something happened to Constantin or Amalia... For a moment his thoughts wandered back to the time when Malia was fourteen and had been poisoned. But thanks to her aunt Josette, who also knew such substances very well, she had recovered. Just as Constantin and Emile had done with another poisoning almost four years later. Apart from that, this was probably one of the most dangerous situations the three of them had ever found themselves in.

But Kurt had trained them well. Moreover, to Emile's great relief the soldier was here. He would bring them to safety, as he usually did. Which meant... Kurt was off tonight. He had come here to relax. And they'd just about turned his night off into work.

Emile closed his eyes for a moment. Either way, the guardsman had his hands full with them. He shouldn't be forced to look after them in his spare time. After all, they should all be old enough by now. It was bad enough that they had gone away from the palace without permission. They might have got away with it. Perhaps no one would have noticed that they were not in their beds at the time. But now their guardians would be informed.

Emile stood in the cool night air trying to imagine what punishment they would face.

He hadn't got far yet when the noise began to rise again not far from him as the door swung open again. Amalia stumbled outside and shortly after that Constantin. A moment later the soldier followed, closing the door again before turning to the three of them.

"Ha! What idiots," the young woman said with a laugh, before putting an arm around her elder cousin's shoulder and helping him to stand up.

"I don't know... they had... quite striking arguments," let Constantin hear and gave his female cousin a doubtful look. Then his eyes flitted down the street and spotted his other cousin. "Emile! You're safe," a smile lit up his face, but it faded immediately and he held his side.

"Are you hurt?" the mage inquired and stepped up to him.

"Nothing bad. Surely I just need some rest," Constantin replied and struggled to smile again, but Emile knew that his cousin was in pain.

"Come on, back to the palace. Before someone in there notices that you're no longer here," Kurt ordered and pointed his head first at the tavern and then up the street.

"What could happen anyway?", said Malia and raised her shoulders slightly.

"Your title will not help you here if they are so upset. And I cannot take on the whole taproom," the mercenary countered.

"Your rescue was truly unique, Kurt. I'll make sure it is rewarded," Constantin said, nodding slightly to the master of arms.

"Can't hurt. It's possible that I'll be unemployed after tonight," the soldier objected.

"Move!", he demanded again and this time the three of them followed suit immediately.

"You got us out – why would they throw you out for that?", Amalia wanted to know, who continued to support her older cousin.

"Pretty sure they will think about it after this thing," replied the guard.

"They need not know that we have been here," the young woman objected.

"They will," the soldier assured them as they turned into another street. There were hardly any people on the road at that time of night. Only now and then did they pass a figure that had sunk against a house wall. Some of them reached out their hands to beg for alms. For others, Emile was not sure if they were still alive or if the Malichor had already taken them.

"You don't want to wake them," Constantin inquired, and his voice was tense, more because of the impending encounter with his parents than the dark streets they were walking through.

"Either way, they will know you were here. Some in there recognized you. And they also know that I was there. And even if none of this were the case, I'm sure Your Excellencies would find ways to hold me responsible," replied the guardsman.

"I agree with Kurt. We have acted irresponsibly. And we should not cause him any trouble," Emile replied.

"It wasn't that bad, was it, Kurt?", Malia followed up, but the mercenary did not answer.

"What she actually wanted to say was: We are sorry that you had to look after us on your evening off," Emile replied.

"I am sure they will compensate him for that. The way they try to eliminate all their problems," said his female cousin, and the mage was sure that she would have raised her shoulders if she didn't continue to support Constantin.

"Some things cannot be weighed in gold," Emile reasoned. He loved his two cousins with all his heart, but sometimes Amalia in particular took after Constantin's mother – and the young woman detested her aunt. He had not yet found the courage to point this out to her.

"Those are wise words, cousin. Kurt, please accept our sincere apologies," Constantin said, turning his head towards their master of arms.

"Once we are in the palace. We should all keep our mouths shut until then. The streets are not safe, especially not for three dainty nobles," the soldier replied.

"You have trained us too well to...", his student began, but the guardsman silenced her with a single, harshly whispered word: "Amal."

The mercenary was the only one who abbreviated her name that way. Eventually, it came up during training and got stuck. And as so often, when he said nothing else, the young woman fell silent and did as she was told. What she usually did only with Constantin and Emile. And sometimes with their guardians, when they were administering the proper punishment. The mage was afraid that they would look for another one tonight and perhaps find one. But first they had to arrive safely at the palace. Emile guessed that the guard was right. The news of robberies was piling up, Emile knew so much from the conversations with his uncle. So the four of them continued their journey in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's funny? When I wrote this scene in german, I made a note, for the "He is off limits" sentence from Kurt. I hope I used it in the right context, because from what I know, that's what I wanted him to say – but there is no good translation in german for it.


	3. Emile – Aftermath

**Four years ago**

They reached the palace without any incidents. Kurt made them stop twice when noises came from adjacent alleys, but each time, they could continue their journey unhindered. The guards at the gate had taken a stance as their small delegation approached them. If Emile had correctly interpreted the expression on the faces of the soldiers who had been assigned there in the light of the torches, they had not been thrilled to see their comrade in the company of the three. Presumably because they would also be blamed for the young nobles leaving the palace unnoticed.

Kurt only stopped when they had passed through the main entrance. A short rustle and scuffle followed when Amalia and Constantin suddenly ran into the guard.

"Green Blood, what's the protocol?", the soldier wanted to know, after everyone had taken a step away from each other, and turned to them. He held up the lantern, which he had taken from one of the guards, so that he could see the three of them better, only looking at Emile.

"We must wake up one of the servants, the valet or the maid, who in turn will wake up our guardians. Considering that my mother sleeps alone, one of the maids would be the better choice," he replied. He almost had the impression that his words were thrown back from the high walls.

"Ivette, isn't it?" the mercenary went on.

"Right, that's my mother's maid," Emile confirmed.

"And where does all this take place?" their master of arms inquired.

"In the small council chamber. They like to tell us off there. But they let us stew first. So we will go to Constantin's chamber until they send for us," Amalia said, her voice sounding as if she was repeating something very boring.

"You have already left once tonight. If I let you out of my sight now, you will turn back immediately," the soldier objected.

"Kurt, we're going to get in trouble anyway, no reason to make things worse now. And none of us want you to lose your position. We already owe you thanks for our rescue," Constantin replied.

The guard's gaze wandered from one student to another until he finally looked at Emile.

"You have our word," he said.

"All right. I'll take you there, then I'll wake Ivette," he finally agreed and turned around again.

"We'll find the way on our own," Amalia immediately contradicted him.

"We only have one lantern and with my luck one of you will break his neck if I let you stumble through the darkness alone. I won't take any chances," he gave back as he walked ahead. The three cousins set off and followed him.

***

It wasn't the first time they waited in Constantin's chamber to be called to their three guardians. Nevertheless, being patient until finally a servant appeared to accompany them to the small council chamber seemed to have become hardly easier in all these years. At least for Emile. Amalia had pretended, as always, that she was not interested in what happened next and Constantin had tried not to look too worried. Yet none of them said a word as soon as Ivette had picked them up and escorted them through the corridors.

When they entered the small council room, the three guardians were sitting at the long side of the council table, as always: Prince Pascal d'Orsay in the middle, to his left his wife Josette and to his right Emile's mother, Princess Valerie de Sardet. Emile's father, whom his mother married twenty-five years ago to strengthen the ties between the House of d'Orsay and de Sardet, had died in an expedition before he was born. Amalia's mother had died giving birth to her first child and her father Armand, the younger brother of Pascal and Valerie, had lost his life in a carriage accident almost a dozen years ago.

Unlike on previous occasions when they had been summoned to this room, their guardians wore only dressing gowns and nightdresses. Kurt was also present, which had rarely happened before. He stood beside the council table, arms crossed, and if Emile was not entirely mistaken, the guard was not particularly fond of being here. As a teacher he was impeccable – even after all these years he still pushed the three of them to their limits without overdoing it. But still he hadn't had much to do with their guardians and Emile had got the impression that the soldier was quite comfortable with it.

The three cousins stood next to each other and glanced at their guardians, who returned the look. Aunt Josette looked more than disgruntled, Pascal d'Orsay looked disapproving, and when Emile's gaze met that of his mother, a fleeting, indulgent smile appeared on her lips, which she immediately hid again under a wait-and-see expression.

"A trip to the tavern of the guard. After all these years we thought we knew what to expect from you. But obviously we were mistaken. You are both of age, Amalia and Constantin!" the prince finally began. At the start, his voice had been quiet, but as he went on, it had become louder, while at the same time it had gained in sharpness.

"Father, please...", Constantin began, but the prince silenced his son with a quick gesture.

"Kurt told us what had happened. Also that he did not intervene immediately," the nobleman continued, and at the last words he let his gaze wander towards the guard.

"Thought a lesson can't hurt them, Your Excellency," he replied and raised his shoulders, still with folded arms.

"They have been injured. It is your job to see that nothing like that happens," aunt Josette replied, pointing to the three of them.

Amalia had washed the blood from her lip but you could already see that it was getting thick and Constantin's posture was also sloppy.

"Actually, he was off duty today," he said, straightening up, although Emile could not help feeling that his cousin was still in pain.

"He was near, and you were in danger. It would have been his job to protect you. After all, he is paid on his days off," his mother coldly held against it.

"If you had raised us better, this would not have been necessary tonight," Amalia gave back unmoved.

Thereupon all eyes wandered to her and Emile wished once more that she had not said anything.

"You dare to criticize us after such a failure on your part?", her uncle demanded to know.

She raised her shoulders: "Obviously. And you are not surprised either. You can save your attempts to save faces. You let us train with Kurt for two hours every day and send him along every time we leave the palace. He knows how this works."

The ensuing silence only lasted for a moment, but it seemed to lie so heavy on the room as if it could only be cut open with a sharp blade. Probably it was not only that which made her uncle continue in a cutting tone of voice: "Then we should probably come to your punishment. Not only did you leave the palace without permission, but you also caused a disturbance in the tavern and endangered the reputation of our houses. You cannot imagine the extent of the consequences of your actions, but we will see to it that the punishment will be appropriate. Perhaps then you will understand the responsibility of belonging to the houses d'Orsay and de Sardet."

His eyes wandered from one to the other until he finally came to rest on his son. The prince's voice lacked all kindness when he asked his heir, "Are you hurt?"

"It's... almost nothing. Just... a stabbing pain in the side," he replied haltingly, still trying to maintain an upright posture.

"How dare you bring our son here in this condition," aunt Josette said to him, and again she gave Kurt a look that was not far from murderous.

"He probably broke a rib or two. Hurts, but usually doesn't kill you. If it had been otherwise, I would have informed the doctor first and then Your Excellencies," the soldier replied.

"You see? He is very responsible," Constantin said, probably in an attempt to break another lance for his master of arms.

"You know about such injuries?", the prince inquired.

"Had the pleasure myself in my time in the regiment. Burns, hinders you in breathing, but usually heals by itself," the mercenary explained.

"How long does it take to heal?"

"A few weeks, maybe two months," the guardsman replied.

"Mmh...", the prince put the tips of his fingers together, while his gaze wandered from the soldier back to his own son.

"Then this is your punishment. You will receive no painkilling potions. Maybe you will finally not disappoint us anymore," he finally said.

Constantin sucked in the air, but immediately expelled it sharply and held his side.

"That seems a bit harsh to me. What if it is something more serious? I do not want to deny Kurt's experience, but I think a doctor should check on him regularly," said Valerie de Sardet.

Her brother looked at her before bowing his head slightly.

"Once a week a doctor checks on him."

"Would you not rather have someone check on him twice a week to better assess the progress of the healing? Not that it is like with Mathis," his sister said, with her tone softening at the mention of her late nephew.

The name of Pascal's son from his first marriage was hardly ever pronounced aloud. He had succumbed to the Malichor fourteen winters ago at the age of seventeen.

"No one could help him," replied the prince, his voice having the sharpness of a blade.

"Yet you should not on a whim jeopardize the health of your sole heir, should you not, uncle? After all, that would not be very responsible," his niece reminded him unmoved.

Her uncle's head jerked around and for the blink of an eye Emile had the impression that his uncle would shout at her the next moment. But that would be the first time in all these years that he would experience that.

"You have no restraint... if Armand could see you, he would be ashamed of you," her aunt Josette objected.

Emile thought he saw his cousin stiffening for a moment, but then she looked at her aunt and replied, "I really have no idea what my father would say to me. And I don't think you knew him well enough to know what he would say."

"Enough," the prince intervened.

"The decision stands – because I agree with my sister. A doctor will check on you twice a week. Which brings us to your accomplices," he continued, looking first at Emile and then at Amalia.

She stepped forward.

"I persuaded them to go to the tavern. A beer, nothing more. Not that I intended to stick to it, but that was how I convinced them to leave the palace. So if you want to punish someone – give Constantin the painkilling potions and punish me. Separate me from them for the duration of the healing," she suggested, raising her shoulders again at the last words.

"That does not seem to have impressed you very much all those years ago," aunt Josette countered.

"But of course – after all, you must not have called us here for three years afterwards," her niece replied plainly. Emile thought that the irony in her voice was not very helpful.

"The fact remains – Constantin will not receive any potions. But I think that separation might be the right approach. Emile will not speak to either of you for the duration of the healing and vice versa. Meanwhile, you will be taught separately," the prince replied.

"You cannot do that...", Amalia gave back, but again he raised his hand and continued in a sharp voice: "With every word from either of you, the time will be doubled."

Emile's cousin stared at her uncle with her mouth open for a moment before closing it again without having said anything. Her gaze wandered to the ground before looking up at Emile, who gave her an encouraging smile. None of them could have foreseen these consequences and he knew that Amalia would have preferred to go into what they called 'solitary confinement' rather than let him serve this sentence.

"Let us come to you. You have only grown more difficult over the years. Affairs long before you came of age, duels that you provoke just because you know you can win them... And you came out of this 'lesson' without significant wounds. It seems that Kurt's training encourages you to behave irrationally", their uncle continued.

"You will be excluded from it for the duration of the healing process. Perhaps then you will finally learn that modesty is a virtue," he added.

Amalia's gaze had wandered back to her uncle and Emile could see her wrestling with herself, but she said nothing.

"I do not think that this does the whole affair justice," Constantin's mother said again.

"She admitted herself that she was the instigator. So her punishment should be three times as long. One for each of them. She should also continue to attend training. However, she will not take part in it, she will only watch," she added.

"And should she have the idea to skip a training session, Emile's punishment will be extended as well," the princess finally concluded and a smile flashed across her lips.

Amalia stared at her and when his cousin looked at her again, he saw that she had clenched her hands into fists, but she remained silent.

"This will take care of everyone. Kurt, take Emile to his chamber and then post guards outside their quarters so that they do not visit each other," the Prince ordered.

"Your Excellency," the soldier lowered his arms and bowed briefly before leaving his place at the side and approaching the youngest cousin. Then the latter exchanged a look with the other two, nodded to them and then followed his master of arms out into the corridor. Their shadows danced across the walls in the glow of Kurt's lantern, but both men moved as silently as the twitching silhouettes on the wallpaper.

Only when they reached Emile's room did the guard addressed him: "You need light, don't you?"

The nobleman nodded and opened the door.

"That would be good," he replied and walked towards his desk where one of the oil lamps was. Kurt followed him, closing the door.

After Emile had lit his lamp on the flame in the lantern, the soldier continued: "I have seen several battles before I got the position here. But that was brutal. Reminds me why I prefer to fight with weapons rather than with words."

"They mean well," Emile replied.

"Yes... some people have a strange idea about that," returned the master of arms.

"To be honest, I had hoped to teach you a lesson. But I had rather thought of a week of separate lessons. Nothing like that," he added.

"We will get through it, that's what we did last time," the nobleman just said. At that time, after Amalia had been taught separately from her cousins at the age of nine, after their first unauthorized departure from the palace, the three had written letters to each other, which they had smuggled into Amalia's chamber. Their cousin had replied to them in the same way. Emile guessed that this time it would be similar and the thought made him smile. He would not really be alone, he had never been.

"Yes, that's what they implied... That was before my time, wasn't it?", the mercenary asked.

Emile nodded: "It was just after Constantin's tenth birthday. The three of us ... It is a rather long story."

"I'd listen, but I suppose if their Excellencies get wind that I was talking to you instead of keeping watch, they will think again about throwing me out," the soldier replied.

"That is possible, and you have already had enough trouble because of us today. Please excuse that your evening off has taken such a turn. And thanks for protecting us."

"No problem. As your aunt said: That's what I'm paid for," he returned.

"It still will not bring back your night off. Please pardon us," Emile objected before bowing towards his master of arms.

"That's all right, Green Blood. It's better as if something really happened to you", the guardsman replied.

"Once more I will take you at your word and fetch the other guards. Guess I don't have to remind you to stay here," he added.

"I am staying here. I will see you at training tomorrow," Emile replied.

"See you tomorrow, Green Blood."

Kurt nodded at him, then he left the nobleman's room. The mage looked at the closed door for a moment before he sat down at the table and began to write a letter to his two cousins. He wanted to make sure that they would be patient and not do anything rash, which would prolong their punishments. And in Constantin's case, Emile wanted to make sure that he didn't fake a quicker recovery, just in the hope that their punishments would be over sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the Kudos, dear guest :)


	4. Amalia – New tasks

**Half a year ago**

Her uncle's fork caused a quiet rattling when he put it next to his plate before reaching for the napkin to wipe his mouth. Amalia did not pay much attention to him, but glanced at another piece of the roast that was on the table not far from her. As it was the case so often when the three cousins were eating together with their guardians, Prince Pascal d'Orsay took his place at the front of the table. His wife, Josette d'Orsay, sat on his right and his sister, Valerie de Sardet, sat on his left. Amalia sat between Constantin and his mother. She assumed that she had been assigned this seat years ago so that she would not notice her parents' absence so much and so that she would not feel like the orphan she had been since her father's accident. But after all those years she was almost happy to take that place – so she could at least act as a kind of physical buffer between her aunt and cousin. Emile sat opposite her, looking at his plate, which still contained some of the salad that had been served as one of today's side dishes.

"We have decided that it is time for you to take on more responsibility," said her uncle.

This made Amalia look up to him, as did her cousins.

"Lady Laurine of Morange has built up New Sérène, but it is time for our family to strengthen our presence there," he continued.

The young noblewoman listened attentively. New Sérène was the most recent town founded by the Congregation of Merchants and was located on the island of Teer Fradee, newly discovered some fifteen years ago. The Bridge Alliance had immediately begun settling part of the island and the strictly religious nation of Thélème followed suit all too soon, although the two countries were at war with each other. The merchants had been the last to set up a post on the island, but that too had been a few years ago. Teer Fradee was the farest point of the Congregation's empire. The sea voyage there lasted at least weeks, sometimes even months, Amalia had heard.

"Therefore, you will be installed there as the new governor," the prince explained, his eyes wandering past Amalia to his son.

"Me?", it slipped Constantin's mouth and surprise was clearly audible in his voice.

Inwardly, she was annoyed by the obvious astonishment of her cousin. Such a thing was generally regarded as weakness at court and as if to prove this, his mother showed the hint of a disapproving shake of the head. But Amalia could not really blame him: she herself had not foreseen this move by Prince d'Orsay. He was almost never satisfied with Constantin. That he now gave him responsibility for what was perhaps the most important project of the Congregation was more than astonishing.

"It is time you learned the duties of a regent and gained experience. It will be a long time before you are up to this," his father explained, and in his last words he let his gaze wander over the pillars of the hall as if they carried the entire congregation. Typical – of course it only looked as if he trusted his son. Amalia had stopped wondering years ago if her uncle would ever see more in Constantin than an inadequate substitute for his first son Mathis. His death was so far back that she could not even remember his face and voice. Instead, she remembered that Pascal d'Orsay had only grown cooler towards his second son.

When she looked at Constantin, he had his eyes fixed on the table in front of him for a moment before nodding and forcing himself to look at his father again: "Of course. As you wish."

Amalia put her right hand on Constantin's left and pressed it lightly.

"You will do a great job," she said and smiled at him.

Her cousin returned the gesture and also the smile, but it seemed resigned and not encouraged.

"You will not go alone. After all, reliable allies are important for such an undertaking, and Lady of Morange is sometimes too inclined to make decisions that are not necessarily for the good of the Congregation," the Prince continued.

The young noblewoman looked back at her guardian, but his gaze had wandered to her other cousin.

"Emile will accompany you as ambassador of the Congregation. We will continue to strengthen our relations with the delegations of Thélème and the Bridge Alliance on Teer Fradee," he declared.

"What a Legate of our family is best suited for," concluded Emile, tilting his head slightly towards his uncle. "Your trust honours me, Uncle."

"You have proven yourself a most capable negotiator so far. I expect you to bring all your skills to Teer Fradee in the spirit of the Congregation and refine your skills there," the Prince replied.

"Of course," confirmed Emile and bowed his head once more.

Amalia's gaze wandered back to her guardian, who beckoned a servant. The latter replenished him before he resigned. Prince d'Orsay put his hand around his silver cup and took a sip of the wine, but he said nothing more and seemed unaware of his niece's gaze. Though she was sure he knew she was looking at him, but it would not be the first time he pretended not to pay attention to someone and thereby persuaded them to act. Usually, she did not try to fall for the manoeuvres of her guardians, but this time Amalia's curiosity prevailed over her pride.

"What about me, Uncle?" she wanted to know.

"What about you?" returned her uncle and turned his face to her.

"What task shall I undertake for the Congregation on Teer Fradee?" she asked.

"None. You stay here," he replied.

"What? You cannot do that!", she exclaimed. She was sure that her surprise was even clearer than that of Constantin a few moments earlier.

"We cannot?" echoed her uncle. Had he sounded doubtful at best to his son before, his voice now had the sharpness of a freshly sharpened blade.

"Remember your place, child. I can and I will," he held against it.

"You are impulsive and uncontrollable. With your selfishness you have more than once risked defiling our reputation and breaking important alliances," Josette d'Orsay added sternly.

Amalia's gaze wandered on to her aunt.

"I only act according to what is shown to me," the young woman replied serenely and put a noncommittal smile on her lips.

"That does not explain your affairs and your penchant for duels," Emile's mother now spoke up, her voice sounding at least a touch worried.

"These are trivialities," replied Amalia.

"You may think so, but we have told you more than once that you cannot go on like this. But you preferred disobedience to responsibility," Lady d'Orsay replied.

"I...", Amalia broke off when she could think of no other argument. Yet she defiantly glanced back at her aunt. For the last twenty-three and a half years the young woman had not let her guardians tell her who she was, she would not start today.

"Perhaps Amalia could prove herself," Emile suggested. His tone was calm, almost gentle in comparison with the others.

All eyes were fixed on him.

"In what way?", her uncle demanded to know, but the strictness had hardly left his voice.

"Well, if you think that her... affairs and duels are a danger to our relations, she could promise not to do either," her cousin explained.

"She has given her word more than once that she will not cause us any further trouble," contradicted Princess d'Orsay.

"But surely we will not leave tomorrow? From what I have heard, it takes months to prepare such a journey. During this time she could prove that she could put the interests of the d'Orsay and de Sardet houses above her own," her other cousin now came to her aid.

"You think she could keep her temper for so long?" Emile's mother, Princess de Sardet, inquired and tilted her head slightly.

Her features were pale, as so often in recent times, and for a moment the question twitched in Amalia's mind as to how long her guardians had planned all this and kept it from her and her cousins. If anyone had the slightest conscience about this, it would be Valerie de Sardet.

"Longer, if need be," Constantine confirmed almost effusively.

"And as you said, for my job, I need people I can trust completely. Amalia has fought more than one duel to protect my reputation. I can rely on her as blindly as I rely on Emile. And would not two ambassadors be more practical than one? Imagine San Matheus and Hikmet demanding our attention at the same time while a crisis has broken out in New Sérène?" he continued.

His father looked at him and for the first time in a long time, he looked as if he were really thinking about what his son had just told him.

"As if we could rely on her really to keep such an agreement ...", Josette d'Orsay threw in a derogatory remark.

"Do you mean to tell me that you are not informed of all her steps?", her husband asked coolly and looked at her.

His wife looked down at her plate as if something incredibly interesting had suddenly appeared there.

"So what do you think of your cousin's proposal?" Pascal d'Orsay asked Emile.

"I think he is right. Constantin and I could always count on Amalia, despite all the grief she caused you. She would be an asset to our plans on Teer Fradee," he replied.

The prince looked at him for a moment longer before his gaze glided over to his niece like a snake in waiting. Amalia had listened to every word and had only ever let her uncle out of her sight for a moment. She returned his gaze as calmly as possible.

"If you promise not to get involved in affairs or duels or contests of any kind until you board the ship for departure, you will be appointed as second ambassador. You will report directly to Emile and Constantin. If they make a decision that you do not like, you will still submit to them," he turned to her.

Amalia bowed her head slightly. There had been very few moments in the past when she had disagreed with one or both cousins. And even if they started now, it was better than staying here alone while the two of them sailed away.

"I am waiting," demanded her uncle.

She raised her gaze and looked into his brown eyes.

"I promise not to get involved in any competitions, duels or affairs, nor to actively seek them out until we set sail and put Sérène behind us," she said.

Prince d'Orsay nodded slightly as he reached out for his wine goblet and placed his hand around the vessel. The movement lasted a tiny bit longer than before: this time he let his fingers fall one after the other on the metal. He was satisfied.

At that moment Amalia realized that he had only waited for her to make this promise. Her gaze wandered to his wife, who wore a slight smile on her lips where one could have cut oneself. They had played Amalia. They probably had no intention of keeping her on the continent anyway, unbridled as she was. And now she had done them the favor of falling into that trap. Her gaze wandered on to Valerie de Sardet, who showed a gentle smile – Amalia could not tell whether she was satisfied because her brother and his wife's plan had worked out, or whether she was perhaps really happy that her niece would accompany her son and his cousin.

But Emile's smile was all the more real. She thought she saw him trying to restrain the relief that radiated from his brown eyes for a blink of an eyelid.

"Wonderful! We will all set off together," Constantin said enthusiastically, and she felt him squeeze her hand before she looked at him. His face seemed to glow – which was a special feature considering that his parents were present. It was difficult not to be infected by it. What was the point – she would leave this continent, the court intrigues and the Malichor behind, together with her dearest people. What did the few duels mean compared to this? Since she had only started her current flirtation to annoy her aunt Josette.

Amalia returned Constantin's smile and put her fingers around his for a moment.

"You are right – it is wonderful. I can hardly wait."


	5. Kurt – Preferences

**Two weeks ago**

The soldier stood at the edge of the forecourt, his eyes fixed on the two fighting people. Almost no ball passed at the Congregation without a duel. This one was no exception. Two young nobles – Isabelle something and the older de Portau brother circled each other, the tips of the rapiers facing each other, but too far apart to touch each other immediately. Isabelle made another drop, which her opponent avoided, only to thrust his blade in her direction at almost the same moment. But the young woman was quick. A duck, a step aside and then her weapon grazed the cheek of the other nobleman. A murmur went through the crowd as a red line appeared on his skin and two small drops of blood came out of the cut.

"You owe me an apology," Isabelle reminded him as she wiped the blade of her rapier with a handkerchief.

De Portau pulled his eyebrows together, but he quickly tightened his posture and his face took on a neutral expression as he bowed towards the noblewoman.

"I beg your pardon. My words were as thoughtless as they were untrue," he said, his voice seeming a touch too smooth to Kurt.

But his opponent seemed satisfied. She bowed her head slightly. "Apology granted," she said majestically.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. There's nothing more to see here. The wine is getting warm," Kurt let it be heard, and stepped forward a little to disperse the crowd before any more nobles got the idea of stabbing each other. For whenever things went wrong, the merchants seemed to think it was a good idea to blame the guards – who at the same time were not allowed to do anything about the duels. Not to mention that it would have been much safer if the guardsmen fought each other instead of the nobles, but apparently, the merchants' honor forbade that. Or that was what they believed.

Some of the d'Orsay's guests went back to the ballroom, others walked down the gravel paths leading to the palace garden in small groups. The soldier's gaze wandered contentedly over the scattered nobles as he caught sight of a well-known figure who spotted him at the same moment and promptly changed direction. Amalia d'Orsay wore a violet or purple dress today – he had never been good with colours. What he knew was that it matched well with the brown of her hair, which she had pinned up, thus showing off her neck. If one let one's gaze wander down to it, it was led straight to the neckline of her dress, which was just wide enough to show that the base of her breasts swayed slightly with quick steps like this. She had previously worn more elaborate dresses, but now she seemed to understand that less could often be more.

Nevertheless Kurt limited himself to looking at her face. She had been his student for a long time – he shouldn't look at her any differently now than he did then. And even if it wouldn't have been one of his principles, there would still have been this threat that her aunt had made. It had been twelve years ago now, yet he remembered the words of Constantin's mother very clearly. Back then, when she had advised him never to approach his students in private:

_"If your attitude toward them should ever change, I recommend that you leave our services before you waste a thought on approaching them in any other way. It could be your last."_

The memory was shoved aside when Amal pushed past a small group and finally reached him.

"Kurt!" she greeted him and for a moment the hint of a smile flickered across her face.

"It is almost unbearable here. So terribly boring," she continued, turning slightly, so that her gaze went across the terrace in front of them.

"Would you like to swap?" he countered.

The young noblewoman gave him a look: "To break up the crowd and walk up and down here in front does not look so difficult now. I think I could manage that."

"You really want to exchange drinking wine and dancing for sticking your neck out in case one of your protégés or guests gets hurt in a duel?"

"I have never quite understood why you should be to blame if one of us does something stupid," she replied and raised her shoulders.

"When students make mistakes, teachers are often blamed," he replied.

"Which reduces us to how good or bad our teachers are. As if we could not do anything alone," she replied and her eyebrows narrowed as her gaze wandered further over her family's guests. Then she pressed her lips together for a moment, as always when a thought wandered through her head that went in a different direction than before.

Finally she turned to him: "Have I made things very difficult for you these past few years?"

The soldier turned his head a little to one side. "Difficult? You?", he asked, half amused.

"I have probably started twice as many duels as Emile and Constantin put together. If anything worse than those two scars had happened to me, you would have been held responsible," she explained.

Kurt crossed his arms and allowed himself half a smug smile: "I didn't have to worry. You've been well trained."

Thereupon a grin lit up Amal's face.

"You are admitting for the first time that you are proud of me," she said, with a mischievous look in her eyes.

The guardsman shook his head slowly and held against it: "I didn't say that."

"Are you saying that you are not proud that I am considered one of the best fencers of my generation?" she followed up. Her face looked like that of a cat waiting to jump into a pot of cream. He knew that of the three cousins, Amal was the one who had absolutely no problem with lack of self-confidence.

So he didn't answer her and let his gaze wander again across the forecourt in front of him. Most of those present were back inside by now, only a few had disappeared in the park. At the end of the night the soldier would find out how many young couples had been caught in a rendezvous. The current bets of the palace guard of the d'Orsay's amounted to three.

"Kurt!" protested the young woman, when it seemed to dawn on her that he would say nothing, but a laugh resonated in her voice. Yet she lightly slapped the back of her hand against his upper arm.

"Lady d'Orsay, no wonder you are not among the others if you prefer to keep the staff company."

At once, Amal's laughter died and she turned to the speaker – Isabelle something.

"He is not 'the staff', but my master of arms, Kurt Pakusch. I owe half my talents to him," his former student replied.

"So? Then you should have enough time to talk elsewhere, instead of doing it now and neglecting your guests," the other noblewoman objected.

"If they were my guests, that would be the case. But since this feast was my aunt's idea, I can spend my time as I please. Indeed, I would rather talk to people I have known half my life than expose myself to the danger of acute tristesse that the company of a few distinguished guests would bring," replied Amal, each word sounding as if one could cut oneself, similar to the smile that now lay on her lips.

"How dare you? Was the demonstration not enough to prove that I do not take insults lightly?" Isabelle asked.

"Lady de Sillègue, you are far too intelligent to interpret a banal utterance from me as an insult to you," she replied to the other person in a glib manner.

In situations like these, Kurt was never quite sure that words were not Amal's strongest weapon – although she was his best student and he was proud of her skills with saber, dagger and pistol. Which he would never tell her that way.

"A single glance can often say more than a thousand words," de Sillègue objected.

"I think the greater discourtesy would have been if I had not looked upon you as my opposite," contradicted Amal, striking a semi-conciliatory tone. The soldier had seen her face to face with others often enough to know that she was just following protocol.

"Now excuse me for a moment – I have a few words to exchange with my master of arms before I get back to the festivities," she continued and suddenly Kurt felt her arm slip under his and put her hand on his forearm. They had fought with each other for years, with and without weapons, but she had never touched him like that before.

"Have a good time, my dear, and continue to leave the conversations with the dreary guests to me," she called half over her shoulder before walking towards the railing.

Kurt had little choice but to follow her if it didn't look as if she was going to drag him along with her. The crunch of her footsteps on the gravel sounded too loud in his ears and his gaze wandered from side to side, looking for more nobles or soldiers to pay attention to them, but it seemed as if no one was near them for the time being.

"Amal, my job is your physical safety, not to be your companion," he rebuked her quietly when they were out of earshot of her opponent.

The young woman let go of his arm immediately. A small part of him regretted this. But he knew it was the right thing to do. Her cousins and she were his protégés, no more, and a dozen years younger than the guard.

"I am sorry," she replied, sounding much more sincere than a few moments ago. Her gaze wandered back to where the other noblewoman had stood before, but she had disappeared.

"I needed an excuse to escape, so as not to break the agreement with my uncle after all," she explained, and expelled the remaining air before looking at the guard again.

"You are really trying hard," he said.

"That I will not be involved in any duels or affairs until we leave for Teer Fradee? Yes. Otherwise I will have to stay here," she replied.

"You would rather sneak aboard than let them go without you," he said, raising his shoulders.

Constantin, Emile and Amalia had been almost inseparable in all the years that he had known them by now. Of course their circle of acquaintances had expanded. But even when they had grown old enough for first infatuations and later affairs, one rule had still applied: Whoever wanted to be involved with one of them in one way or another was not allowed to speak ill of the other two. Or even give the impression of not thinking well of them.

A grin lit up her face: "I have not thought about that yet. That is a very good idea!"

"No need to break your promise now," he tried to curb her enthusiasm.

"If you should be involved in a duel tonight after seeing how we talk to each other, I will certainly be held responsible," he reminded her.

She sighed, but he was sure she was overdoing it with the theatricality of it.

"Very well. For the last two weeks I can do you a favour, too. Even if it probably does not outweigh the difficulties I have caused you over the past years," she repeated.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said and crossed his arms again.

Amal's smile seemed a little relieved, but somehow it didn't seem to reach her eyes when she replied, "I am glad to hear. I would not like to leave you with a bad impression of me when I depart."

"You won't," he replied, mustering her a moment longer before adding, "I'll go with you to Teer Fradee."

"You are coming with us?" she followed up in surprise.

He nodded, her face brightened. If one wasn't careful, the smile that just lay on her face could look like the sunrise after a particularly dark night. Which was why Kurt tried to avoid it as best he could. He let his gaze wander across the park in front of them again before looking back at her.

"That is great!" she continued and straightened up a bit and only then did he notice that she had neglected her posture before.

Her gaze wandered towards the palace that lay behind them.

"There are a lot of people I will not miss when we leave, but I am glad that you are not one of the handful of people I will miss," she added, her voice becoming a little quieter.

"Wait until we are on our way. Sooner or later you will complain and feel supervised," he prophesied. Mainly because he wanted to take the wind out of her sails a bit. He planned to continue to look after them, but his time as master of arms of the three cousins was officially over since the preparations for the journey had begun.

"Have I complained about you so much in the past?" she asked.

"You were not only my best student, but also the one who lamented most," he countered.

"If you criticized me unjustly ... yes!", she replied, but her voice sounded more amused than angry.

"Perhaps you thought my criticism was unjustified ...", he objected, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

"You are no more infallible than I am. And no matter what you say now, this is the best news I have received today. You will not change anything about it," she returned and smiled again.

"I know you like to pretend that you are here just for the money, but unlike you, I have no problems admitting when I like someone. You belong to us and I am glad that you are with us," she continued, her smile widening even more.

"Glad to hear," he finally admitted and raised his shoulders with arms still crossed.

"Oho – it looks like I will have to take back that you cannot talk about your feelings," she replied mischievously, but changed the subject seamlessly, whereby her voice lost a little of its enthusiasm: "I will go back inside and take care of those who I will not miss."

She nodded at him, then turned towards the palace. Her footsteps caused a soft crunch, but she paused after the second one and turned to Kurt again: "Wish me luck that they are not all like certain young ladies, then I will get through this evening without a duel."

"You don't need luck. You just have to keep your temper in check," he countered.

"Yes, Captain!", she replied and saluted casually before turning away and walking back to the ballroom.

Kurt expelled the air and turned his gaze back to the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the two new kudos! :)  
> I said there is going to be a romance, didn't I? So, here it starts ;)  
> Aria and Kukolnyy have invested some time and read a few more chapters - next week we will finally start with the departure from Sérène :)  
> Happy Easter, everybody!


	6. Emile – Farewell

**Today**

Emile held his hands in front of his body and instantly let his magic form a shield. Only a blink of an eye later, a bullet bounced off the purple shimmering barrier. Kurt and Mother Iratia had made him practice such defensive techniques hundreds of times. And even though this was not his first real fight, it was still something different when the person opposite you really wanted to kill you. But he had no time to think about such things, because already a sabre rushed towards him and he had to concentrate on keeping the shield upright. The moment the blade touched the barrier, the nobleman let it collapse to the outside. His attacker was hit by the shock wave and Emile sent a magical projectile after him, which knocked him down for good.

A few arm's lengths away, a sword passed through the air, so fast that he would have had to focus on the blade to follow its movements correctly. Kurt's weapon struck down a woman. She emitted a gurgling scream that gradually turned into a wheezing sound as the fight continued.

There had been five of them: Three women and two men had pounced on Emile de Sardet, the future ambassador of the Congregation of Merchants, and his bodyguard and former master of arms Kurt Pakusch as soon as they entered the alley. Now only one of the attackers, a woman, was still standing. The soldier had pushed her into a corner – her back was against the wall of the house and her eyes, which could be seen above the cloth, were wide open. The diplomat thought he saw black, snake-like lines next to her eyes.

"Kurt, let her go," he turned to the guard, whose weapon was only two hands' breadth from the woman's chest.

"She wouldn't do us the same favour," the mercenary countered without letting his victim out of his sight.

"I am sure she has learned her lesson," Emile said and approached the soldier.

The mercenary examined the bandit opposite him. Then he lowered his sword and walked half a step aside, still staying in front of the ambassador.

"Get out of here," he just said.

The woman ran past them, stumbled over the corpse of one of her cronies, but immediately picked herself up again and disappeared in one of the adjoining alleys. Only when her footsteps had faded away did the guard start to move and squat down with the other woman, who was lying on the ground still coughing. Her movements were so weak that Emile was not sure if she was even aware that she was still moving. Kurt pulled out a knife and pushed his free hand under the back of her head. The nobleman turned away. He suspected what was to follow, even if he had only once watched his former master of arms cut the throat of an attacker who had been beyond rescue. A smacking noise sounded, then the rattle died.

When Emile turned back to the soldier, the guard had pulled the scarf from the woman's nose, revealing the rest of her face. Black lines ran across her face as if dark earthworms had pushed themselves under her skin and died there. Her wide open eyes were already showing the first signs of dullness, indicating that she was approaching the final stage of the Malichor. The plague had appeared on the continent about two centuries ago. At first, there had been isolated cases. But by now, it was ravaging all the nations known to the Emile. It was not clear how it was transmitted: The Malichor was transmitted neither by touch nor by animals. Its sacrifices were so arbitrary that none of the factions that inhabited the continent could be accused of taking advantage of it. Poor and rich, young and old, strong and weak were all afflicted by it. Some families lost only isolated members, others died out completely.

The sight of the dead made Emile's thoughts wander back to his own mother. It was not an hour ago that he had said goodbye to her:

 _He had gone straight to his mother's room after breakfast with his uncle and aunt. Since the Malichor had demanded her sight, she hardly left it. Emile had always walked a few steps with her in the last few weeks, but that would no longer be possible starting today. He put his hand on the door handle, even though he would have liked to delay this encounter further. The ship would leave with the tide in the evening and the Prince of the Congregation had made it clear that there would be no further delay to this journey._

_So the Ambassador opened the door, which made a faint squeaking sound and revealed the view of Princess Valerie de Sardet, sister of Prince Pascal d'Orsay. Her posture was as upright as ever, almost as if she was still sitting in the throne room at the side of her brother and his wife. Her dress could also have been worn on almost any courtly occasion. Her milky eyes wandered as she heard the sounds coming from the direction of the door, as if she was trying to look at someone, although she had not been able to for a long time._

_"Who is there? Did no one teach you to knock? I have asked a thousand times," she said in a scratchy voice, taking away some of the severity that resonated in the words._

_The young man had approached her armchair and reached for her hand while he sat down in the squatting position._

_"Emile", it escaped her and suddenly her tone of voice became soft and her face took on a peaceful expression that even the black, almost finger-wide, snake-like ulcers that the advancing Malichor left on it could not completely disfigure._

_"Mother," he replied, although he still had to swallow when he saw her like that. Not because the sight of her frightened him, but because it reminded him how much she suffered. His mother never showed it to him, but he had learned enough about the Malichor to know that she was in great pain. There had also been two days when she had only been in a dusky state and had not recognized him. These days would increase, he knew that, even if he would not be here to experience it. Which caused him all the more trouble._

_"'Today is the great day, is it not?', she inquired as she laid her other hand on his. She sounded much more confident about it than her son felt at that moment._

_"It is," replied Emile, though his heart seemed to grow even heavier at the thought of these words._

_"Then you leave for Teer Fradee today. I am sure Constantin and Amalia are ..." she broke off when she had to take another breath. For days, she had found it increasingly difficult to breathe as she tried to produce several sentences. "... very eager for it," she finally added._

_Emile squeezed her hand._

_"So eager that when they celebrated last night they forgot the time. Kurt and I will go and look for them right away," he replied._

_Prince Pascal d'Orsay had not been pleased when his son and niece had not appeared at breakfast and the servants had reported that they had not spent the night in their rooms. It was not the first time that one of them had spent the night outside the palace – or in Amalia's case, sometimes simply in another bed – but the day before departure it was more than unusual. Nevertheless, he would worry about his two cousins later._

_His mother laughed softly, which soon turned into a cough. Emile put his other hand on her shoulder as she bent forward to give her some support. She gradually calmed down and pressed his hand with hers._

_"I was surprised not to hear them outside the door. Do not blame them for their exuberance, they hope..." she struggled for breath again, "... for a better life for the three of you on Teer Fradee, just like me."_

_The young man felt how the stone that had formed in his throat before entering the room seemed to grow larger._

_"But to leave you in this state, mother, when you are ill and suffering..." he replied, but did not manage to finish the sentence._

_But he did not need to. His mother again put her other hand on his and held it carefully._

_"I am dying, Emile. There is nothing you can do to ease my suffering," she replied softly before she took another deep breath and exhaled again. Only with the second breath she continued: "But I know that you will be safe from the Malichor. No one on Teer Fradee has ever been sick with it. And who knows..." again she had to interrupt to gasp for breath. Watching her, it was like a blade cutting through his chest. Nevertheless, he stroked her forearm slightly with his free hand to let her know that she did not have to hurry. What she did anyway, she was gentle, but still a bit stubborn: "... maybe you can even find a cure. After all, they say there are all kinds of miracles on this island. Imagine..." she took another deep breath, expelled it unused and took another run at it: "Imagine the face of my brother when Constantin, of all people, helps to heal the continent."_

_The hint of a mischievous smile was stealing into the corners of her mouth. But despite her disfigured features, Emile was for a moment, as if the sun was breaking through the clouds for a brief glimpse after long days of rain._

_"But for this you must go. And you must find them," she added, a little slower this time. She released her hands from his and turned a bit to the other side. There was a little table, on which there was always a cup and a jug of tea. Only now Emile noticed that today there was also an amulet lying there. The fingers of his mother, which stroked searchingly across the table, stopped when they reached it and she picked it up to turn back to her son. With one hand she reached for his, then she put the pendant inside. It was about half as wide as Emile's palm and round. But unlike the shimmering, finely crafted silver necklace on which it hung, the pendant was cool and heavy. A pattern was carved into the surface, but before he could look at it more closely, his mother put the fingers of his own hand over it._

_"It is a family heirloom. I want you to carry it with you always," she said softly._

_"What is it?" he wanted to know._

_"Something that I hope will bring you luck. And now go... or the ship will sail without you," she replied, and despite her battered voice she managed to give the last words a teasing tone._

_Emile put the necklace around his neck and stowed the pendant under his tunic before he rose. He leaned forward, gently placing one hand on his mother's shoulder before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. He had known that this moment would come. And yet the realization that this was the last time he saw her passed through him like a lightning bolt._

_He felt the tears in his eyes as he stood up and looked at her once more. His hand moved from her shoulder down to hers._

_"Farewell, mother. And thank you for everything," he replied._

_"Take care of yourself. And thank you for being my son," she answered and squeezed his hand._

_"I will always be," he replied softly, while a tear found its way out of the corner of his eye. But he did nothing to stop it from running down his cheek and into his beard._

_"Go," she said, still softly but firmly, and squeezed his hand._

_Emile bent over again, this time kissing her cheek. Somehow he managed to step away from her afterwards. He wanted to say something else, but his throat was closed. And he did not know what else he could have said. So he turned around and left the room._

"Green Blood."

Emile shook his head and turned to Kurt who was still holding his sword in his hand and standing in the middle of the small square.

"I know this isn't easy for you, but we still have to find the other two greenhorns," he reminded him.

"I am sorry," Emile answered and caught up with him.

"No harm done. And at least you were in the palace this morning," the soldier returned as they set off. His gaze wandered from side to side as he watched for possible attackers.

"I hope nothing has happened to them," replied the ambassador.

"Probably they forgot the time, drank themselves under the table or just wanted to annoy Constantin's parents," said the guard, raising his shoulders slightly.

"You are probably right. Maybe they are really waiting for us at the harbour," Emile agreed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I lure you in with romance and then... hearts get broken in a completely different way. And not in a good one :/  
> But let's face it, that's kind of what GreedFall does. But don't worry – there is also quite a lot of fluff in this story ;)


	7. Amalia – Escape

**Today**

Amalia carefully moved the lock pick, whereby a scraping sound was heard. She paused at once. But it remained quiet in the corridor in front of the door.

"Do you have it?" Constantin asked whisperingly.

She looked at her cousin and shook her head slightly. They had both woken up in this storage room about an hour ago, if Amalia had to estimated the time. There was a small window right under the roof, but it was too narrow for her to fit through. Judging by the light that came through, it was still early in the morning. Which was good, because they should be somewhere else very soon. But apparently, they had messed with the wrong people the night before while partying. Their memories were sketchy towards the end. How she and Constantin got here, she couldn't remember exactly. They had gone to one of the taverns. And then into another. And then... it got blurry.

It didn't really matter – because if they didn't get out, the ship would probably leave without them. So Amalia tried again. Whoever threw them into this room had taken their belts, coats and swords. But they had not taken their boots, so the young woman still had her lock picks, which she had hidden in the bootleg.

She guided the thin metal pin a little further into the lock and turned it slightly. She felt a resistance. Carefully she exerted pressure and finally a scratching noise was heard, followed by a clacking sound. She put her free hand on the latch and pressed it down to test it. The door opened.

Amalia glanced at her cousin with a grin.

"Malia, you are incredible," he said, his enthusiasm thwarting his attempt to whisper.

She put one finger to her lips while she put the lock pick back into the bootleg with the other hand. Then she opened the door which let an ominous creaking be heard. Both cousins froze in the movement. But nothing happened.

Amalia was the first to leave the room. Behind it was a corridor. Again, the walls, ceiling and floor were made of wood. Apparently, no nobleman had taken them. Or the kidnappers had not yet handed them over. She quietly put one foot in front of the other while her cousin followed her down the corridor a little. Diagonally opposite them was a door. Amalia opened it carefully. The young woman paused momentarily at the sound of a squeak. She counted slowly to five in her mind, but the house remained quiet. Then she pulled the door open far enough so that she could take a look into the room behind it. She saw boxes standing in the opposite corner and two normal windows. Good, that would give them some orientation. Amalia crept into the room, but there was no one to be seen here either. Which didn't have to mean anything – just because the creaking hadn't alarmed anyone, it didn't have to mean that nobody was here. Perhaps their captors just thought a door had opened by itself or one of their cronies was moving through the house. To her right was another door, which she stepped upon quietly.

A creaking behind her made her cringe and twirl around, but all she saw was Constantin raising his shoulders apologetically. Relieved, Amalia expelled the air, then continued on her way. Behind the door was a kind of writing room – albeit much more plainly furnished than the one she knew from the court. The furniture, a few shelves, a desk, an armchair and two stools, were roughly knocked together. She had not even seen such simple work in the tavern and brothel of the Guard, although the furnishings there were already very different from those of the palace.

As her gaze wandered to the side, she glimpsed another table – on which their belongings lay. She turned to her cousin and pointed her head towards the room so that he would follow her, then she went over to the table. Amalia put on her weapon belt, then she checked her pistol. Loaded, as before, but secured. Only then did she put on her coat and finally her hat. She still had some headache, probably from too much alcohol, but now that she had her things back, she felt more like herself again. She walked over to the window in front of which the desk stood while Constantin put on his belt.

The windows were not glazed, but only had some wooden struts so that no one could break in easily. Her gaze fell into a muddy courtyard. Apparently they were on the first floor of the house. She could make out marks on an access road, probably from carriages or coaches. Then the floor was replaced by a kind of platform on which more crates were stacked on top of each other. As she pressed herself against the wall to see what was right in front of the house, her eyes fell on two figures.

"Do you really think anyone's coming?" she heard someone downstairs say.

"Didn't you see their clothes? With those fancy things, someone must be paying a pretty sum for them," replied the figure at the stack of boxes.

"And what if nobody does?"

"Let's cut their throats and sell their shit. That simple," the man replied.

He had pulled his hat to his face, so that Amalia had recognized his gender only by his voice.

At the casual mention that they would kill Constantin and her, a slight shiver ran down her spine, but at the same time she felt that she was getting angry. Nobody would throw them into any canal and certainly not the few people down there.

She heard soft footsteps beside her and when she raised her eyes, she saw that Constantin had approached the window on the other side and looked down into the courtyard.

"Let's do it now. Waiting is annoying," said a third person who Amalia could not see from her post.

At that moment another figure came down the path where the wagon tracks led behind the house.

"What's the situation?", one of the others wanted to know.

"All quiet," replied the other person, a woman in voice.

Behind the courtyard there were roofs, chimneys and the masts of ships. In all probability, they were still in Sérène. At least that was something.

When Amalia raised her eyes, she met her cousin's. She pointed with her chin to the room behind him from which they had come. He tilted his head slightly, then turned around and went back

"They are ordinary vagabonds," Constantin quietly remarked as they reached the hall.

His cousin nodded.

"Obviously, they do not know who they have kidnapped. Otherwise they would not consider cutting our throats," she replied whisperingly.

"What do you think about showing them that they have made a mistake?", her cousin suggested.

Amalia allowed herself a smile: "We should hurry back to the palace, but... I think we will be quickest if we take the front door."

Constantin and Amalia met no one on the way out. Only when they were at the door did they stop and draw their weapons. The young woman put one hand on the handle and looked at her cousin.

"Ready?" she asked, moving only her lips so as not to warn the people in the yard. A crunch sounded from outside. Probably someone was just passing by the door.

Her cousin nodded. There was a flash of light in his eyes and with each moment his mood seemed to change from excited to tense and back again. Amalia blew open the door and walked through, followed by her cousin.

"Gentlemen," she said, and let her eyes wander over the surroundings. In front of them stood one of the bandits, his figure seeming to sink almost completely into his large coat. Not far from him stood one of the women, wrapped in a worn-out frock coat, trousers and unkempt, mud-crusted boots. Amalia spotted the third bandit further back in the yard, by a stack of boxes. Where was number four?

"Ladies", Constantin said, as he stepped beside her, sword in hand.

"We thank you for your hospitality, but we will leave now," he added and took a step forward, but the two figures opposite them drew their swords.

"No? Well... what a pity," he commented, and the tone of his last word seemed to express the exact opposite.

Amalia had continued to survey the surroundings. As Constantin walked past her, she spotted the last kidnapper. She had been leaning against the wall of the L-shaped house, and only now, when Amalia's cousin was no longer blocking her view, could the noblewoman see her. And the pistol that she was holding in her hand.

"Constantin!", Amalia exclaimed. She dragged her cousin over to her side and pulled the door against them both. Only a blink of an eye later, a loud bang sounded, and at once the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. Now it was time to be swift.

"Was that..."

"They have no other firearms," Amalia interrupted her cousin and rushed past him to the other bandit. At least the young woman hoped she remembered correctly, for she had no time to look, since the woman opposite her was coming towards her with a drawn sword.

Amalia needed a moment to find a secure foothold and evaded her opponent's first strike rather awkwardly, but after that she consistently drove the woman back with an ever-changing sequence of feints, thrusts and strikes. She heard further fighting noise behind her, accompanied by cries of "Do not overdo it" and "Careful – otherwise you will stumble."

She knew that neither was for her, but Constantin's calls reminded her that they were currently outnumbered. And their master of arms had taught them not to let opponents out of their sight longer than necessary. So Amalia let herself fall back again and used a carelessness of her attacker to push the tip of her sabre into her opponent's thigh. The woman cried out and her movements became considerably slower.

The noblewoman jumped away from her and turned around – only to see that the other woman was already filling new gunpowder into her pistol.

"Constantin – to the left," she urged him as she approached him and without further ado tied his opponent's sword with hers. The bandit's gaze wandered from one to the other, apparently confused that he suddenly had a different fencing partner.

"Do not worry, my good man, you are in the best of hands," her cousin let it be heard, while he quickly left.

Amalia followed the movements of the opponent's weapon with hers and saw how her counterpart became increasingly frustrated – and finally stopped when another shout sounded: "Gentlemen, Milady – may I have your attention, please?"

The bandit's gaze wandered to the side. Only then did the young woman allow herself to do the same.

Constantin had made the woman drop the pistol. The tip of his sabre floated in front of her chest like a bee and she had her hands up.

"I ask that all those present drop their weapons and then leave this compound," he added.

Amalia first looked at the man who was standing not far from Constantin – but too far away for him to reach him with a quick breakdown. Then her gaze wandered on to the man opposite her, whose blade was still tied by hers. Finally, she looked at the woman who she had hurt in the beginning. She had dragged herself to a pile of boxes, on which she now leaned. She still held her sword in her hand, but it almost seemed as if she was clinging to the weapon.

"Now, please, since my cousin and I still have a lot to do," Constantin said again when no one made any effort to comply with his request.

Finally, there was a clatter to Amalia's right as the wounded woman threw her weapon away. The two men exchanged a glance, then they also let go of their weapons. Amalia's opponent raised his hands before slowly taking a few steps back.

"You may go," Constantin said patronizingly.

"Not her – we will keep her until we are safe," Amalia immediately turned and stepped backwards towards her cousin to protect him from possible attacks.

"Well, then the other three may go," he corrected himself.

"I think your companion could use some help with that," the noblewoman said, pointing to the injured woman with her chin.

But the two men retreated further. When the first one reached the corner of the house, he turned around and ran, the second one did the same.

"Looks like she will have to stay here. A shame. There seems to be no loyalty these days," Constantin said, shaking his head slightly.

"Well, dear lady, you will keep us company for a little while yet," he turned to the bandit, whom he still threatened. Her look seemed to want to pierce the two cousins, but Amalia was not impressed. It was not the first time she had been attacked. It wasn't that it had happened to her often, but after all, they had brought the situation here under control. No, in fact she was more afraid of the blast that would undoubtedly await them in the palace as soon as Constantin's and her absence would be noticed.

Amalia also turned to their hostage and pointed her sword at her.

"Walk along the wall of the house until we tell you otherwise," she instructed the woman. The latter threw a glance at the young noblewoman as if she wanted to pounce on her. Amalia raised an eyebrow slightly. But when nothing happened, she pointed with her chin to the corner of the house, behind which her comrades had disappeared. Finally, the bandit pushed herself along the wooden wall. Amalia walked in front of her cousin and took turns watching the surroundings and their reluctant hostage.

But nobody ambushed them. Around the corner, a muddy path led to a gate. Its left wing stood a little open. She could see that people were moving there and already now the sounds of the street stretching behind it could be heard. Knocking and clattering of cartwheels, which now and then drowned out conversations and footsteps.

When their small group reached the gate, she exchanged a glance with her cousin, who walked around Amalia and opened the gate a little further.

"That is it," he noted in surprise, looking back at his cousin. She kept the tip of her sabre pointed at the kidnapper.

"We will now say farewell. Do not get the idea of following us," the noblewoman turned to her.

"And try to find more loyal companions next time. Fare thee well," Constantin added, bowing his head slightly towards the bandit, just as if he was saying good bye to a nobleman of equal rank.

Amalia lowered her blade and slowly walked backwards, never letting the woman out of her sight. But as soon as the woman was no longer threatened, she rushed past them and towards the open gate, bumping into Constantin, who in turn fell halfway against Amalia.

"Forgive me," he immediately let it be heard as soon as he had regained his composure and reached for the shoulders of his cousin to give her support.

"No harm done," she replied, putting her sword back into its sheath.

"Such a rude thing! We let her go," said her cousin, shaking his head, before they passed through the gate together.

"At least she will not follow us then," Amalia said to consider.

"That remains to be hoped for," her cousin replied, but his face already brightened again: "Nobody would believe us that we were captured and freed again independently within a day!"

"Yes – I had not thought that our adventure would start before we left Sérène," she agreed with him and smiled.

"And how quickly we were on the scene – I am certain Kurt is proud of us," continued her cousin.

Amalia's head swayed slightly: "Considering that he has never said anything like that about any of us before... I rather think that he will skin us alive for letting four people capture us."

"Well, I guess you are right," her cousin relented.

"But... who knows, perhaps he will not even know if we hurry," she said and grinned.

"Do you think we will make it back to the palace in time?" Constantin inquired and his gaze wandered up the street. They knew they had to go up if they wanted to get back – it wouldn't be too difficult to find the way.

"Not if we stand around here forever," she replied.

Again her cousin smiled and nodded at her.

"Probably true. Come!", he shouted the last word and ran off. Amalia joined him and together they ran up the street, past shops that opened slowly, the car of suppliers and passers-by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Thanks for the Kudos to Gewher and thedeirose :)  
> I know I said, I'll update on Fridays – but you know, life and so on...  
> And here comes another anecdote (does anybody use this word in English? Because I think I've never seen it in any english fanfiction...) about translating to English: There are things that simply sound better in English. Like – the title. First I thought, that I want to call the story "What if", but the german "Was wäre wenn" somehow lacks the shortage, since it has the doubled amount of syllables. "Wenn man Dinge findet, nach denen man nicht gesucht hat" is quite the mouthful, I know, but somehow I got the feeling, that "Finding things you weren't looking for" might be more fitting for this story.  
> But: German has this nice, old fashioned words for cousins. There is "Base" for a female Cousin and "Vetter" for a male cousin. Not to mention, that one can distinguish between female cousin and male cousin, since these are "Cousine" and "Cousin". Long story short: Sorry, if there might be a lot of "(fe/male) cousin" in this story. It's something, that is harder for me in English.  
> I hope you stay tuned for next week – when Kurt will share his opinion about this escape ;) Have a nice weekend!


	8. Kurt – The missing greenhorns

**Today**

Kurt Pakusch, former master of arms of the three cousins, walked towards the docks at Emile's side. Nauts – easily recognizable by their face tattoos – rushed towards some of the ships loaded with crates and bundles while unloading other things. Again and again shouts echoed through the air, occasionally drowned out by the screeching of the seagulls. The soldier saw a total of four ships, but he knew that more could dock down at the quay. His former student stopped and let his gaze wander over the scenery in front of them before he started moving again and headed for a Naut who shouted orders: "You there! Be careful, this porcelain is worth more than your life!"

Not a pleasant prospect – and as if the wearer had realised this too, he stumbled at that moment. The two bundles of strapped linen that he had carried fell to the ground with a loud rattling and clattering. The string of one of the bundles tore and some shards of broken porcelain rattled across the cobblestone pavement.

"So much for the porcelain," Kurt murmured.

He knew what it was like to be surrounded by things more precious than one' s own life. Twelve years of service at the palace had taught him a great deal about the values of the Congregation of Merchants. There seemed to be no problem they couldn't solve with gold. Which in the case of the Guard often succeeded, after all they were mercenaries. That didn't mean that they were immediately bought by the next best thing – they only signed contracts for a limited time and as soon as the end was near, they asked for further offers. Which often earned them an increase in pay.

Green Blood had changed course and rushed to the fallen man who was about to pick himself up again.

"Are you hurt?", the ambassador inquired and gave the Naut a hand to help him up.

"No harm done," replied the latter.

"I would not call it nothing. Go back to the wagons and make sure it doesn't happen again," the other man joined in. Kurt inspected him. He was about the same size as Green Blood, but clean-shaven, which made his numerous tattoos on his face easy to spot. The mercenary had only dealt with Nauts from time to time, but he knew that their rank could be read from these signs and it was like with the Guard – the more signs, the higher the person stood. There wasn't much room left on the face of this Naut, except for the nose, cheekbones and forehead.

"Of course, Captain," the other Naut read before hurrying past him.

"Do not be too hard on him. My cousin never liked this dinnerware anyway," the ambassador turned to the remaining sailor after he had taken a look at the shards on the pavement.

"You... are the governor's cousin?", the Naut inquired. He examined the two men opposite him, his gaze resting longer on the nobleman than on the guard. Kurt knew this behaviour from the last dozen years well enough. He was easily recognized as a bodyguard and thus often lost the attention of most. Which did not mean that he did not listen. He'd picked up on a lot of things over the years.

"Emile de Sardet, nephew of the Prince and ambassador of the Congregation," the latter replied and extended his hand in greeting. The other man took it and shook it briefly.

"Captain Vasco, I presume?", the diplomat asked.

"That's right," replied Naut.

"If everything is all right, we will soon set sail in your boat."

The tone of Naut's voice became noticeably cooler when he replied: "It's a ship. Not a boat."

"Apologies," Green Blood replied immediately. Of the three greenhorns, he had always been the most thoughtful. During the first months Kurt had trained the three, he had assumed that the boy was simply afraid of conflict. This was true in part, but in one of the better ways: Emile always tried to resolve or defuse disagreements with words before they escalated. Constantin also tried the former and often failed the latter. And Amal liked to cause conflicts just as much as she liked to resolve them with a duel, often in her favour.

"You are not the first to call it that," replied the captain.

"You did not happen to see my cousins?" Green Blood wanted to know and let his gaze wander over the docks once more.

"No. They are not with you?", the Naut inquired.

"They were not at the palace this morning after they went to celebrate last night's forthcoming voyage. I had hoped that they might already be here, but then I will go and look for them," replied the ambassador.

"I hope nothing has happened to them. Or that they have changed their minds. The tide won't wait," the captain gave to consider.

A slight smile settled in the corner of Green Blood's mouth: "They have not changed their minds in any case. Perhaps they took a room in the tavern when the way seemed too far for them."

As far as Kurt knew, this had already happened once in Constantin's case – although the future governor had been much younger at the time.

"When you're there – could you keep an eye out for one of my crew members? He hasn't reported for duty yet and was last seen there two days ago," the Naut inquired, but Kurt only listened with half an ear, because something else was attracting his attention: Between all the bypassers and the screeching of the seagulls, two persons were approaching their small group. He turned around a little and saw Constantin and Amal coming towards them. There was a smile on the lips of the nobleman, which widened when he saw his former master of arms. The smile of his cousin might have seemed more restrained at first sight, but it turned into a grin as she approached.

"Kurt! Emile! Forgive us for being late," shouted Constatin and accelerated his walk for the last few arm lengths.

"Constantin! Amalia!", Green Blood received them, hurrying towards them and embracing them one by one.

Kurt called it the two-hour hugs because he felt that they did it every time they were two hours apart.

"Is that our brave captain?" asked the future governor after he and his cousin had let go of each other and inspected the Naut.

"Captain Vasco," he confirmed and nodded to him.

"Constantin and Amalia d'Orsay, we are delighted," the nobleman introduced his cousin and himself.

"We need about two more hours before the ship is fully loaded. If you wish, you can already go on board and settle in. Although... the cabins probably don't quite correspond to the comfort you are used to," the Naut gave to think about.

"I have never entered a ship before, I am sure it will exceed my expectations by far," Constantin countered enthusiastically.

"For once, we will look after your cabin boy. Perhaps we will be lucky and find him," Emile objected.

"I would be grateful for that, but if there is no other way, we will sail without him. Your journey has priority," the captain replied.

"Do not worry – Emile will make sure we will be back on time," said Amal, smiling at her cousin.

"We will not keep you any longer," the ambassador confirmed, before turning away and heading for the inn.

"Sorry for being late," Constantin began, as they walked back up the road.

"Where were you two?", Green Blood wanted to know, and first took a look at his cousin walking by his side and then at his other cousin walking behind him.

"We were delayed," she replied vaguely.

"We were kidnapped and then locked up in a horrible house. But they had not expected Malia's lockpicks, nor that we would find our swords again and teach them a lesson in return," reported Constantin.

Kurt shook his head slightly. The future governor was twenty-five, Amal twenty-four and Emile twenty-three - and he was still the most reasonable of the three. The soldier had slowly begun to believe that the three were gradually growing up, but, as it seemed, this was only true of Green Blood, who at sixteen had already argued like a much more experienced man.

"You let yourselves be kidnapped? How?", the guardsman wanted to know.

"That... is a bit sketchy," Constantin confessed and looked over his shoulder in the direction of his former master-at-arms.

"How sketchy?", the guard added.

"Neither of us really knows anymore. We assume that they put something in our drink and then hoped that someone would pay for us. At least they sounded that way this morning, but we have not asked them about their motives," replied Amal, who walked next to him.

"Well, we hardly had time for that either. Kurt, you should have seen how quickly we got them on the run," her cousin began, but the guard immediately stopped him: "How many?

"Four. Rogues, I tell you. They were..."

"You let four fellows take you captive? Did you not learn anything from me? One would think you wouldn't want to leave. If you care so much about the court...", he immediately objected, but broke off.

Already after his first words he had felt a touch on his forearm and looked at Amal. She had shaken her head a little and looked briefly in Constantin's direction. He had lectured her and her cousins more than once in all this time. In the beginning, when they had been children and teenagers, Amal had tried to talk her way out of it with lies, but in the last years she had seldom contradicted him – and even thought in the right direction at least once in a while. That she interrupted him now was not due to her lack of respect, but to her cousin.

"I assure you, Kurt, we are not anxious to stay here. But do not let Amalia stop you from sharing your opinion with us," Constantin replied, who looked over his shoulder again.

"I did not say anything!", she countered a little too quickly. A gentle smile appeared on Constantin‘s face: "Are you saying that you did not give our esteemed master of arms any sign that he should let go of me?"

Amal's gaze wandered briefly to the ground before she looked at her cousin again and raised her shoulders: "I just think that we have been reprimanded enough already in the palace."

Then a shadow rushed across Constantin's face, as so often when it came to his parents. Kurt could not quite blame him.

"Please, all they had to do was stock up on supplies. After all, they will not have the opportunity to do so for the next few months," he replied, but smiled again at the end.

"Come on. Let us find that cabin boy," he added, accelerating his steps.

The soldier stayed behind for a moment, as did his former student.

"I suppose Your Excellencies were not amused when you two showed up after breakfast."

She threw a glance at him and her good mood seemed to have vanished for the moment.

"Not even close. If it had been up to me, we would have left the palace immediately after changing clothes, but Constantin might have regretted one day not having said goodbye to his parents. And Aunt Valerie... at least gave us a few kind words and told us where to find you."

"Four people?" he asked.

Again Amal nodded, "I know we did not cover ourselves with glory."

That was almost reasonable by her standards.

"At least you made it out of there on your own," he said and raised his shoulders.

Thereupon a smile lay again on the face of his former student.

"I cannot imagine what a telling off you would have given us if you had had to save us."

"Better be glad," the soldier confirmed. Although he knew he wasn't responsible for the upbringing of the three. Especially now that he was only employed as their bodyguard. And responsible for Constantin's guard once they reached Teer Fradee. But first, they had to leave.

Amal and he quickened their pace so as not to lose Emile and Constantin.


	9. Constantin – Following the trail of the missing cabin boy

**Today**

Half of the tables in the tavern had been occupied when they had arrived there. Constantin had thought that they would ask around a bit, but that they would eventually leave without having done anything. But he had been mistaken. The innkeeper had actually remembered the boy and had pointed them to a card player sitting in a corner and eating something that was probably called 'stew'. The future governor had asked him what had happened to Jonas. He had even prepared to use the name of d'Orsay to get the man, whose appearance clearly revealed that he had been suffering from the Malichor for months, to talk, but he never got that far. The gambler told them about Jonas – and that he had allegedly been addressed by a nobleman,whose name the player even knew.

Constantin thought all this was more than doubtful, but Emile had thanked the man and they had left. On the way, the prospective ambassador had explained to them that the Fontaine family belonged to the lower nobility. They had some property in the outskirts of Sérène, but had hardly any influence within the Congregation. The impression of their property confirmed this: although it was a two-storey building, it probably had only five or six rooms.

They had been led immediately to the lady of the house, but she did not seem to know what they were talking about. Her husband was away on business and she had never heard of a cabin boy named Jonas.

"I am sorry I cannot be of further assistance to you," Lady Fontaine said again.

"That is unfortunate, but it cannot be helped," replied his youngest cousin.

"Thank you for your time," he added, bowing.

"Lady Fontaine, could I ask a tiny favor? I am already half a day on the road and the next few weeks only on a ship ... would it be possible for me to freshen up here?" Amalia inquired with a friendly smile on her lips. And a glance. She usually did something like that only at court, but Constantin did his best not to let the astonishment about it show.

"Of course. My maid will show you the way," the lady replied.

"Thank you very much. You may wait outside. We do not want to overstretch the hospitality of Lady Fontaine," Amalia turned to the other three.

Her two cousins exchanged a glance, then raised their shoulders and said farewell. Kurt followed them as they left the house and crossed the small square in front of it.

"That was most unusual," Constantin finally said as they took a few steps.

"Indeed," confirmed Emile, his eyes wandering back to the house.

"Either she's lying, or she doesn't know anything about her husband's machinations," threw in the mercenary, who stood beside them with his arms crossed, his voice even darker than usual.

"You think he is doing something to the boy?", the future governor wanted to know, after turning to his former master of arms.

"A man who kidnaps a teenager and his wife doesn't know about it? It doesn't take much fantasy to imagine why he would do that. I would inform the Guard, but they won't get far with someone from nobility," the soldier replied.

The Coin Guard, abbreviated to Guard for simplicity's sake, usually took over the duties of guards within the Congregation. Constantin knew from their lessons with Sir de Courcillon that most of its members originally came from the country of Algerm. About one hundred and fifty years ago they had fought wars of expansion when the population of Algerm had become too numerous. They had conquered large tracts of land in a short time – but they had failed in the administration of the captured territories. They had lost large parts of their territory and had finally decided to sell their fighting power. Since then they have worked for Thélème, the Bridge Alliance and the Congregation. No one over twenty was allowed to stay in Algerm unless they had previously served abroad. Some left before their twentieth birthday. Thélème and the Bridges Alliance used most of their own soldiers to go to war with each other, and the Congregation had saved the training of its own recruits for city guards, bodyguards and soldiers in general since that agreement with Algerm. It was cheaper to pay the people of Algerm than to train their own guards, and if the Congregation could save gold anywhere, it did so. He had learned this before he had even heard of the existence of a country called Algerm.

"How disgusting. Perhaps we should... inform my parents," Constantin gave to consider. He felt Emile reach out for his hand and squeeze it. The future regent gave his cousin a grateful smile in return. They both knew how unwilling Constantin was to return. There was also the possibility that his parents would dismiss the matter as unimportant and accuse him once again of irresponsibility.

"Maybe Amalia will find something," said his cousin, and an encouraging expression appeared in his eyes.

At the mention of their cousin and the prospect of not having to go back to the palace again, the pressure in Constantin's ribcage eased noticeably, even though it was only then that he realized that this feeling had been there.

"So you also thought it strange that she suddenly complemented us and wanted to freshen up again," he asked his younger cousin.

"Clearly."

"Suppose you'll find out in a moment," Kurt said, pointing with his chin at Amalia's figure, who in the meantime had also left the Fontaine's house and was approaching them.

"You have really cleaned up," Emile noted. The future governor had to agree with him: She had previously worn her hair in a simple braid, now it fell over her left shoulder in a fine herringbone braid.

"And you... smell different, too," Constantin noticed when she reached the three men and suddenly there was a heavy, flowery smell in the air, where he could only just suppress the instinct to put one hand in front of his nose and take a half step back.

Amalia's smile became a hint of resignation as she raised her shoulders: "I had to make it look as if that was really why I stayed there. When Lady Fontaine wanted to check if I was finished, I reached for the first bottle of perfume on the toilet table. Not my best choice. In my haste I also tied the braid too tightly. But I can fix that on the way to the warehouse."

She pointed her head into the next alley and they started moving.

"So you used the time to sneak around again," Kurt concluded.

One of Amalia's lovers had shown her how to use lockpicks years ago and since then she had broken into other rooms several times, both in the palace and on other occasions. Constantin could only remember two times when she had stolen something. His cousin was above all curious, it seemed.

"Of course," she replied, grinning at him before continuing: "There is not much in Lord Fontaine's study. As Emile said on the way here – a small family with little property. No wonder they were never invited to any of the balls. But there is a warehouse further down in the city. I think we should try our luck there."

"Malia, you are incredible," Constantin said and threw a smile at her.

"I'm just trying to keep up with you two," she replied.

"As if you had to," objected her elder cousin.

"Which way?", the guard interrupted the two of them.

"Dyer's Lane. You know where that is?" she wanted to know.

He nodded.

"Well – I do not, and I am afraid the two are no different," she replied, looking briefly at her cousins who were also shaking their heads.

"Sometimes I wonder if I am a bodyguard or a nanny," the mercenary replied and started to move down another alley.

"How about a valued companion?" Emile suggested.

Constantin heard the soldier snort and exchanged a look with Malia, who raised her shoulders with a smile. They all knew that the mercenary liked to be a bit harsh.

"Save your sweet talk for your post as ambassador," the soldier replied, but it sounded less grim than his question before. The three followed their former teacher through the alleys of Sérène.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jade72 for the Kudos :)  
> Today only a short chapter. There will be another one next week and then there will be a break for a while. The crossing and the first chapters on Teer Fradee are already finished – but I have to think about the order and necessity of the crossing chapters again.  
> And probably you noticed that I changed the background of the guard a little bit. I've never understood why the Guard fights for all factions – and thus kills their own members on the front between Thélème and the Bridge Alliance. If anyone has understood why this is the case, or if I have simply misunderstood – please enlighten me. I am really curious if there might be another explanation.


	10. Emile – Depature

**Today**

It felt almost a bit surreal to finally walk down the docks to the ship in the light of the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon. But if they stayed longer, the tide would turn and their boat – ship he corrected in his thoughts – would not be able to leave the harbour for another day. And Emile could not imagine what his uncle would say when he realized that their delegation was not yet on its way to Teer Fradee. The young man turned around once more and looked up. He thought he could make out the palace in the distance, on one of the hills of Sérène. The question of whether his mother would stand at the window flashed through his mind for a moment, but it was followed by the bitter realization that she would not be able to see him anyway.

"Let's go, Green Blood," Kurt's gravelly voice brought him back to the moment. The soldier sounded almost soft for his standards.

"Otherwise the two of them will leave without us and I'm not sure if that means more trouble for us or Teer Fradee," the guard added after the ambassador had finally turned to him.

He joined his former teacher and they followed the others. The captain went ahead, Emile's relatives followed him on foot.

Amalia had put her arm in Constantin's and both of them walked down the quay with long steps. His oldest cousin had placed the broad-brimmed hat at a slight angle on his ash-blond head and the laps of his frock fluttered in the rising wind. Amalia's brown hair was braided into a plait that hopped slightly from side to side with each step.

"Seems as if they would rather run," the mercenary next to him said.

"Does it surprise you?" Emile inquired and looked at him.

"Not really. Just wonder when I last saw them so enthusiastic. Apart from one of your many reunions," he replied.

Kurt had teased his students from time to time over the years that they often seemed as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks when it had only been two hours. But he always did it with that half smile on his lips that was rarely found there, so none of the three had taken offence. Even Amalia had only tried to defend herself once. But then she had changed her mind and only raised her shoulders, grinning.

"To be honest, I cannot tell you that either. What about you?", the ambassador asked.

"I won't complain about getting out of this hornet's nest," the soldier replied, his voice seeming to get a little darker.

"Like me," confirmed Emile as they turned onto a quay where only a single three-master was lying. As he approached, the young man could spot crew members hurrying across the deck, but unlike his first encounter with the crew and captain a few hours ago, no one was busy loading the ship. They probably knew that departure was imminent, for the captain had sent Jonas ahead as soon as Emile and Amalia had returned with him to the docks. The ambassador tried to make out the shape of the cabin boy, but he could not find him. Perhaps he was busy below deck or on the sails. Then the diplomat let his gaze wander further over the ship and finally over a kind of wooden jetty, which had been assembled from several transverse planks. It led from the pavement of the dock up to the recess in the railing.

Their captain stopped in front of it and pointed to his ship with his hand: "Gentlemen. My lady."

Although this gesture was clearly intended to welcome them on board, everyone else stopped and looked up at the high masts. The ambassador almost expected to see the top of the masts touching the orange-tinted bellies of the clouds that were floating gently across the pink sky. But when his gaze reached the end of the highest mast, he realized that it was much further up to the sky.

The three cousins had never left the continent before and had never entered such a ship before.

At that moment Emile noticed a movement in front of him. He lowered his eyes just in time to see his oldest cousin sprinting towards the jetty, crossing it with long steps, almost jumps, and landing on the deck of the ship with a laugh in one leap. He took advantage of the remaining momentum, stretched out his arms and turned on his own axis, while still laughing, putting his head back on his neck. But only a moment later he closed his arms around Amalia, who had followed him in a rapid sprint and both stumbled, still spinning on their own axis but not letting go of each other, in a circle.

Emile smiled, happy to see them both so relaxed.

"The enthusiasm of your relatives is... remarkable," said the captain and looked at Emile from both of them.

He returned the look of the Naut and bowed his head slightly.

"The voyage was long awaited by both of them," he explained. Emile knew that Constantin still wanted to satisfy his father – even if this seemed to be a matter of impossibility. And Amalia... She was the most skilful of them as far as the intrigues of the court were concerned, yet he knew that she left them more than willingly.

Emile smiled at his master of arms, "Teer Fradee awaits us." He gave the soldier a nod before passing the ship's captain and following the other two.

He heard the steps of Kurt and the Naut behind him.

"Ha ha! Look at it! A real ship," his oldest cousin said.

Amalia and he had loosened their embrace to such an extent that now they had only put one arm around the shoulder of the other. His other cousin shaded her eyes while she put her head back and looked up at the mast that was closest to her.

"I see it," Emile confirmed to him with a smile.

"Ah, it is as if I can already breathe more freely," Constantin replied.

"Wait until we are at sea," said Amalia and grinned.

"And there will be no sign of Sérène? Oh, it will certainly be an indescribable feeling," his cousin replied, putting his other arm around Emile's shoulders.

"Everyone to their posts! Weigh anchor and prepare to cast off," sounded the voice of the ship's captain behind them. In a moment, the crew was filled with activity. Had they been quick before, their actions had become downright industrious. Emile could see out of the corner of his eye how some Nauts climbed up the rope ladder-like structures before his cousin pulled Amalia and him towards the front of the ship.

"Come! I want to get as far forward as possible," Constantin shouted half over his shoulder.

Emile granted his cousin. This was the best mood he had seen him in a long time. He hoped it would last as long as possible.

***

"It is so... boring," Constantin said, with his voice climbing up to the middle of the sentence, only to go back down again at the last word, which gave his statement a certain theatricality.

They had only been at sea for half a week. On the evening of their departure, they had soon changed from the bow to the stern – in the meantime Emile had learned a few more nautical terms – and watched the night descend over Sérène, while it seemed to get smaller and smaller on the horizon until darkness had finally swallowed the city. Emile had had the feeling that the stone had returned to the pit of his stomach and stayed there. Back there, by the lights that seemed to go out, was his mother. How much time she had left was uncertain. Some doctors suspected that she would already be dead when the three of them reached Teer Fradee. Emile had continued to stay at the side of his relatives. If only because he knew his mother would not want him to be so gloomy.

So far, their journey had been quiet. They had wind and, as far as Emile could judge, they had not encountered any difficulties. At least he hadn't noticed any excessively hectic maneuvers so far.

"I could lend you a book," Emile suggested to his oldest cousin.

"Somehow I should have expected that this suggestion would come from you," said Amalia, grinning as she leaned against the ... rigging, the word for the rope ladders leading up to the masts.

"Oh, please. That is what Sir de Courcillon used to suggest! Why should one hide like an old maid in a book in such weather?" his cousin demanded to know.

"Far be it from me to add to your boredom," Emile replied, raising his shoulders slightly, while Amalia muttered , "Constantin," her tone of voice ranging between reprehensive and indulgent.

The young governor's gaze wandered to her, who in turn nodded in Emile's direction. When his oldest cousin looked at the ambassador, he raised his shoulders only smiling. He himself loved to read, and even though Amalia, Constantin and he shared everything else, this passion was not one of them.

"My dearest cousin, I'm sorry. I did not mean it that way," Constantin replied immediately and reached for Emile's hand.

He squeezed his cousin's hand: "Nothing happened. It is a pity I can't help dispel your boredom."

"We were warned," his other cousin reminded him and smiled as well. But the Legate knew her well enough to suspect that she was as bored as Constantin.

Behind Emile there was a creaking sound, different from the one the ship sometimes made. Almost a squeak.

"Kurt!" cried his cousin and immediately pushed himself off the railing.

The ambassador also turned around and saw their master of arms winking into the sun, holding his hand over his eyes and glancing obliquely at the sky, before shaking his head briefly.

"I thought you would sleep forever! You poured plenty of wine yesterday," Constantin greeted the soldier.

"I tried sleeping until some lamenting greenhorn crowed me awake," growled the guard. He staggered towards the railing and didn't even stop moving when he grabbed a bucket that was attached to a rope on the way.

"Woken up by crowing? Please, we both know my voice is not that strong," the future governor replied with feigned indignation in his voice as he followed his master of arms.

"He must mean Emile," Amalia grinned.

"One would think that you two are old enough to occupy yourselves alone," grumbled the soldier as he began to lower the bucket on the railing into the depths.

"One would think you know us well enough to know that this is not the case," his former student held against it with a laugh in her voice.

Emile took advantage of the fact that his relatives were otherwise occupied, at least for a short time, and climbed the steps up to the quarterdeck. He was briefly pressed against the railing as their ship crossed another wave crest. Although the sea was not particularly rough, he still had a little trouble moving around the ship.

When he had climbed the afterdeck, he turned to the two Nauts who were at the wheel not far from him. Their captain had put his hands to his sides and looked out to sea, while the woman next to him, with steady hands, corrected the course a little from time to time.

"Do you have a moment, Captain?", the diplomat asked.

"What is it, Ambassador?", replied the Naut and turned to him.

Emile knew from conversations with other members of the crew that the man opposite him was about twenty-five years old. The tattoos on his skin – blue, wavy lines that were nevertheless found in symmetrical segments on both sides of his face – would otherwise have made it difficult for him to estimate the captain's age. Overall, there was not much contact between Nauts and the nobles of the merchant community. The ambassador knew from his time at court that most nobles regarded sailors as necessities and still regarded them as their subordinates, even though the Nauts were a separate people. But only the Nauts knew the secrets of how to survive long sea voyages unharmed, so the Congregation and all others who wanted to leave the continent depended on them.

"I wanted to request that you let us know if my cousins or I were too much of a burden to the crew. Or you", Emile replied.

His counterpart raised his eyebrows slightly before shaking his head: "Don't worry, Lord de Sadet. You are not the first passengers we carry."

"That does not mean we have to make things unnecessarily difficult for you or your crew. It will certainly happen more often during the course of the journey that we make a mistake through carelessness or ignorance. Do not hesitate to point this out to us," Emile replied. He underlined his statement by leading his right hand to the side.

The captain paused for a moment before bowing his head slightly: "Of course, Lord de Sadet. But as I said before, don't worry."

The ambassador would have liked to reply that he respected the Nauts, but a surprised exclamation from his oldest cousin made him pause and turn his gaze towards the deck. He saw Constantin standing half with his back to him and a puddle of water formed under him. Kurt stood in a similar puddle. Only Amalia was dry. She held the empty bucket in her hands and laughed. Emile had assumed that the soldier had used the bucket to wash himself, but apparently he had tipped it over his head – or Amalia had somehow taken it and caught both Constantin and the guard with a throw of the water.

"You... you will pay for this," the future governor said.

"You will have to catch me first," she replied with a grin, before turning around and running quickly across the deck. Constantin immediately started to move and followed her. Amalia ran around a mast and swiftly turned around so that she could keep an eye on her cousin. When he ran to the left, she did the same and when he changed direction, she did the same again.

"I..." Emile began to look at the captain. Although the Naut's face was often hard for him to read because of the tattoos, he was sure to find a slightly surprised expression there this time.

"You do not have to say anything. I will take care of it right away," the diplomat added and made his way to the stairs. But before he reached the lowest step, he saw Kurt approaching the mast around which the other two were still running.

"Enough, greenhorns," he said.

"But..." Constantin started, but his former teacher interrupted him: "No buts."

"Ha – you will have to go faster," Amalia said still laughing.

"We'll sort this out another way," the soldier added, whereupon the young woman's smile widened even more.

"With a practice fight? Kurt, you know exactly how this will end," Constantin complained.

"You practice attacks. And Amal will only react if you do them wrong," the soldier explained, whereupon Amalia's face took on an unwilling expression.

Emile knew that she enjoyed being the best of them at fighting. And Kurt knew that, too. Yet she did not object, which in and of itself bordered on a small miracle. On the other hand, in recent years she had taken all her teachers more and more seriously, starting with the soldier.

He turned around and let his gaze wander over the deck. He only stopped when he discovered the ambassador at the foot of the stairs: "Green Blood! Get rid of your frock coat – you three have been loafing long enough," continued the master of arms, waving his protégé to him with his left.

Emile smiled a little. Apparently he was getting help to spare his relatives from boredom.

"Go, go, go. We haven't got all day," Kurt continued as the diplomat approached him and his two relatives.

"Actually we do," Amalia corrected him, but took a few steps towards the middle of the ship.

"Really? Then we'll see to it that we use the time as wisely as possible. Get down in the push-up. You may not have to scrub the deck, but you'll get to know it well anyway," prophesied the master of arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The departure together with Constantin is one of my favourite scenes in the game, so I wanted to bring it here.  
> And I don't know, if it's common, to say, one was "crowed" awake. When someones talking really loud/annoying and you're waking up because of this, you can say, he has crowed you awake (like a rooster would do). So, that's what I tried to say with these lines ^^  
> Last but not least: As announced last week, there will be a break until I finish puzzling the chapters. It feels like a lot of Kurt-Amalia-Fluff. I must admit, I'm not used to Fluff, hence the puzzle break. Have a great time!


	11. Emile – Rules at sea

**Today**

Emile followed Constantin into the community cabin. It was located at the end of the corridor from which their small sleeping cabins on the left and right were accessible. The community cabin, where they regularly ate, took up half the width of the ship. The other was taken up by the captain's cabin, which Emile had never been in. The community cabin was furnished functionally: There was a large table bolted to the floor, as well as benches on the long sides. A dresser was attached to the wall, containing a few books and a battered set of playing cards. However, it was a Thélèmian card game, so none of them knew the rules.

The table was set as usual: there were bowls and spoons in the middle and next to them a large pot with steaming ingredients, the spicy scent of which could already be smelled at the door. Next to it was a wooden bowl with hardtack.

"A stew. How... creative," Constantin commented as he walked around the table and sat down.

"I am afraid we will have to get used to that," replied Amalia, who took a seat next to him.

"If you greenhorns don't want to – I'm not complaining about another serving," Kurt intervened and sat down on the opposite bench.

"As guests you can enjoy warm meals. The crew usually only gets hardtack, pickled fish and vegetables – if there are any left," another voice said. The tone of voice was kept neutral, although the ambassador thought he heard something like subliminal rebuke in it.

The captain of the Nauts had left his adjoining cabin.

"Captain! What a delight! Will you be joining us again today?", Constantin asked happily.

They had now been at sea for almost a week and a half, and so far the Naut had only eaten with them once.

"Tonight, yes," he answered and approached the table.

"Well then, brave captain – there is always a place for you here with us," replied the young governor. His female cousin and he immediately slid to the side, making room for the Naut.

"Many thanks", he replied and settled down next to Constantin and opposite Emile.

The latter took a bowl and began to fill it before passing it on. His cousin took it from him and passed it on to Amalia. "Thank you very much," she said, reaching across the table to find a spoon, while Emile continued to serve the stew in the bowls.

"What do you do the other evenings?" Constantin wanted to know and looked at the Naut.

"Usually I eat alone while I determine and correct our course. If that should be necessary. Or I eat with the crew," he replied.

The captain nodded slightly at Emile as he handed him his bowl.

"I would have expected you to spend more time with your guests," Amalia said in between spoons.

"It is important to know how the crew is holding up. Even though we Nauts are a family, you should talk to everyone regularly so that no one is left out," the Naut replied.

"Meaning – his duties don't allow him to amuse you," Kurt remarked before bending over his bowl.

Emile had finally served the food and sat down as well.

"We are adults – we do not need anybody for our entertainment," Constantin objected.

"Sounded different this morning," contradicted the master of arms and looked over his spoon at the young nobleman.

"Maybe we were just complaining so loudly so that you would finally join us," Amalia objected and her eyes flashed mischievously in the light of the oil lamps.

"Meaning that you wanted to be pushed through a training session. I believe you, but not your two cousins," the guard replied, and the smile on the face of his former student widened to a grin.

"Please, Kurt, we always appreciate your advice and your lessons," Constantin said.

"Yes, Your Excellency," the soldier ironically rebuffed, "you might as well say that you miss intrigues at court."

"I may not have been your best student, but I have always preferred your lessons to those of the court," the young man countered.

This time Kurt only bowed his head slightly before continuing to eat.

"Captain, a question, if I may," Emile turned to the man opposite him.

"Go ahead, ambassador," he replied.

"I could not help but get the impression that the Nauts address each other only by one name. And it sounds a lot like these are first names."

The captain nodded.

"Do the Nauts also have last names?", the diplomat asked.

"We do."

"So Vasco is your first name," Amalia concluded, leaning forward a bit so that she could look at him past Constantin.

"Correct, Lady d'Orsay," he replied.

"What is your last name?", she inquired.

"Our surnames only make sense to other Nauts and are rarely used," he responded.

"That was not an answer," the young woman noted, and a soft smile settled in the corners of her mouth, but not in her eyes.

"We do not share it with outsiders," replied the captain.

"You do not? How unusual," Constantin said, who had previously listened in silence to this conversation.

"Indeed. With us, it is a sign of trust if you call each other by their first name, but with the Nauts it seems to be different," his female cousin pondered before taking another spoonful of the stew.

"You address everyone beneath you by their first name," Kurt countered.

"This is... not completely wrong," admitted Constantin, although his voice had sounded as if he wanted to vehemently contradict at the beginning.

"Not completely wrong? None of you or the other nobles has ever used my last name in all these years," replied the soldier.

"What should we have called you then? Captain Pakusch?" followed Amalia and looked for a moment as if she was trying this name similar to a new dish, but then she shook her head slightly.

"Master Pakusch?" she tried again, but still did not seem very convinced.

"I like it," the soldier argued and half a smile settled in the corner of his mouth, while Amalia rolled her eyes.

"Of course. I have known you half my life. I am not going to start with formalities now," she contradicted.

"As if it would harm you to show others a little respect," he objected.

The young woman made a light gesture to the side with her free hand, with her palm facing upwards: "What am I supposed to say, I have little respect in general. But believe me – of all our teachers, you got the most of it."

"Somehow it's not hard for me to believe that you took the others even less seriously."

Amalia paused for a moment, and indeed, the mischievous expression on her face seemed to fade somewhat when she replied: "If you got the impression that I had not taken your lessons seriously, I must have been doing something wrong all these years."

"I would say that your numerous dueling successes should have shown that you listened to him," Constantin argued.

"Wait until you meet something other than bored nobles out there," Kurt objected.

Amalia pulled her eyebrows together slightly, but this time she didn't reply. Silence fell for a moment, but it was again Emile's female cousin who broke it: "Captain, since my cousin has already started asking questions, would you allow me to ask one?"

"Of course, Lady d'Orsay."

"It has not escaped my notice that there are sometimes noises from the lower decks which can be attributed quite certainly to coitus. How is that settled among the Nauts?", she wanted to know and looked past her older cousin in the direction of the captain.

For a moment Emile thought he had misheard while staring at his cousin.

"Malia... do you really think this is an appropriate topic for dinner?", Constantin inquired, though one could hear that he was more than a little piqued by her question.

She looked at him.

"Do not be such a prude. It is not as if I had asked him about his personal favorite positions. It is more of a technical question and since he has already made it clear that he cannot spare much time for us, I thought I better ask right away before I put my food in my mouth accidentaly," she replied.

Emile put his hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly while avoiding looking at the captain. Although, as ambassador, it would probably have been his duty to apologize for Amalia's behavior.

"So you rather do it on purpose?" Constantin returned, but sounded more amused than reproachful.

"Who else should I have asked how things are arranged on the ship?", she objected.

"Still... even for you, this is a very direct question," said Emile, trying to make his voice sound normal.

"It is not as if I want to join in, but I only know the conditions at court and I was curious to know how these things are handled here," she replied.

Then her gaze wandered from her cousin to the Naut: "But if I have offended you by my question, I apologize, Captain."

As Emile followed her gaze, the Naut shook his head only slightly, and indeed the hint of a smile seemed to linger in the corners of his mouth. The ambassador could not tell whether it was amused, indulgent, or merely fake.

"Not at all, Lady d'Orsay. As a rule, anything in mutual agreement is permitted. As long as it does not interfere with work. During the shifts, such activities are forbidden," he replied.

"Sounds reasonable. Do these rules apply to everyone on the ship?", she asked.

"As I said – as long as the parties involved come to an understanding, nothing stands in the way of this outside of service," the captain replied, while Emile shook his head again.

His cousin had always been very direct – and had given little attention to etiquette. Normally he did not mind this trait of hers, and more than once he had admired her for it. But just today he felt the blood rise to his cheeks because of it.

"That is – you are included in this rule," she concluded.

Emile, who had just wanted to take another spoon of the stew, dropped it back into the bowl with a splash, trying to cover his surprise with a cough, while Constantin gave his with a loud "Malia!" away.

"What is it this time? I am only curious," she defended herself again.

"Captain, please pretend you never heard this question," the prospective governor turned to the Naut on his other side.

"We apologize for the behavior of our cousin. Usually her questions are reasonable," Emile added, bowing his head towards the other man.

"Don't worry, gentlemen," he swayed and nodded briefly in Constantin's direction, glancing first at him and then at Emile before looking at Amalia.

"To answer your question, Lady d'Orsay, in theory yes. In practice, I take myself out of this. To get involved with passengers would be unprofessional. And if I got involved with someone from the crew, I would feel like I was exploiting my rank," he replied.

"An extremely honorable view," Constantin responded, perhaps to prevent his female cousin from asking further questions.

"I am sure that Malia's curiosity was satisfied adequately," he added, giving her a piercing look during the last words.

His female cousin rolled her eyes.

"You almost sound like...," she began, but then broke off and her gaze flitted to her other cousin, but it was so fleeting that he could not tell whether she was actually looking at him or whether he had just imagined it.

"Like...?," Constantin followed up.

"Like one of my dearest people whom I had embarrassed Please forgive me," she relented, put her spoon aside and reached for his left with her right hand.

"And I owe you an apology as well, Captain. I was more than cheeky, please accept my apology," she turned to the Naut.

"Your questions were somewhat unusual. But they did no harm," he assured her.

Constantin squeezed her hand and smiled as he said: "You say whatever is on your mind. I admire you for that. Even if it is sometimes embarrassing to others."

"I agree with that," Emile added, for which Amalia threw him the hint of a grin across the table.

"And now – it would be best to leave this somewhat uncomfortable conversation behind. Anyone else want some more?", Constantin inquired.

"Oh – does it suddenly taste good?", Malia wanted to know.

"I never said that it did not," he objected.

"That sounded quite different a moment ago," she countered teasingly.

"I think I'll just have the rest while you two continue to argue," Kurt spoke up and pulled the pot towards him by the handle.

"Waaaaait!" his former female student objected immediately and reached for the thick cloth rags that had been lying next to the pot before she also reached for the pot, over which she grinned challengingly at the soldier.

Emile cleared his throat quietly and shook his head as he looked down at his half-full bowl. Amalia may have had most of the affairs of the three of them – but she was also sometimes the least adult, although she was the middle of their trio.

When the ambassador raised his eyes again, he looked over to the Naut, who watched the verbal and somewhat playful exchange between Kurt and Amalia, in which Constantin now also became involved. Again there was a slight smile on the captain's lips and Emile looked at it a moment longer. But he gradually got the impression that it seemed more amused than anything else, for which the diplomat was grateful.

Then the other man unexpectedly turned his head and seemed to notice the look of the ambassador. He tried to save himself by looking in the direction of the other three before he looked at the captain again and raised his shoulders slightly. Then Emile looked down at his bowl again. Perhaps he should concentrate on the food. Before Naut got the idea that the diplomat had been staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> So, sorting this took longer than I expected. To be honest – I didn't write for quite some time due to my offline life. But now I am back and Kukolnyy is already on the beta reading for further chapters :)  
> Uploads will continue every Friday at least for the rest of the year. I finished a couple more chapters, but we all know, that proof-reading might take some time. If anybody else would like to proof-read, feel free to contact me via E-Mail talin.mirengo[at]web.de :) I'd like to return the favor, but as you may already guess – I'm only able of help concerning plot and character development (unless you need proof-reading for german texts :) ).  
> I hope all of you and your loved ones stayed healthy during this crazy time. Let's finish this year with some more fluff, awkward romance, escapism and even a little adventure, yes?  
> I hope you enjoyed the prelude of our second pairing :)  
> See you next week – with more from Kurt and Amalia!  
> Talin


	12. Kurt – Gifts

**Today**

He had closed his eyes and pushed his hat into his face to protect himself from the sun. The captain had warned them on the first day that they should stay in the shade as much as possible so as not to burn their skin. Constantin and Amal had not followed this warning, which caused the cheeks of the future governor to compete easily with those of the brothel girls for a few days. His female cousin had been even more seriously affected – her whole face had been red, as if she had had a high fever. Even her scalp was burned – since then, the two of them had been wearing wide-brimmed hats as well.

The soldier had dozed off, while Emile and Constantin had talked quietly. The ambassador had tried to entertain his cousin with something which he had managed more badly than well. The creaking of the sails and the soft splashing of the waves had largely covered up their conversation. But the steps that now moved across the deck sounded familiar. The guard pushed his hat up a little and saw Amal heading for her two cousins. A bag dangled in her left hand, about the length of a forearm. The dark green fabric from which it had been made looked expensive.

"I think it is time for a little diversion," he heard his former student say, but by then he had let his head sink back and pulled the hat back over his eyes.

"Diversion would be a blessing," replied Constantin and his words were followed by a small, theatrical sigh.

"Then I hope that this helps," she said.

"What is this?"

"Presents. I thought it would get a little boring for us at some point," she added.

For a short moment silence stretched out, only broken by the creaking of the ropes.

"This... is a card game, is it not?" Constantin finally inquired.

"This is not a Congregation hand. We dealt with something like this at Halis' court when we visited the Bridge Alliance," Emile replied.

Kurt gave up trying to get some more sleep and sat up so he could lean against the railing while looking over at the three nobles. Constantin held a few round cards in his hand, which he looked down on.

"I have asked the merchant to lay out detailed instructions. It seemed a bit complicated, but I thought, together we would find out what it was all about," said Amalia, who was crouching in front of her cousins and looking at them. The bag lay beside her on the deck and she turned a little to dig in again. Her eyes glanced at Kurt, but she concentrated on getting a smaller bag out of the pouch, the fabric of which was dark red. The shape was rectangular, whatever was inside seemed to be sturdy. Then she turned around again and handed it to Emile.

"This is for you."

"Thank you," he replied in surprise before taking the bag and unlacing it. He pulled out a book. The cover was dark red, but shimmered gold when the young man opened it.

"The Collected Works of Javelot," he noted and turned the pages, while Constantin briefly let out a soft laugh.

"That is very kind of you, Malia," Emile added and smiled at her.

But she looked at her other cousin: "Why are you laughing?"

"Well..." he started, but was interrupted by his relative: "It is not important."

"Emile ..." said Amal, her voice sounding a little reprehensible for once.

"Our cousin has taken on board a complete edition of the works of Javelot," Constantin explained, raising his shoulders slightly.

"Oh..."

It was rare that she was at a loss for words, but apparently this was such a situation.

"How stupid of me!" it finally escaped her.

"It does not matter. It is the thought that counts," countered Emile, reaching for her hand.

"Besides, he will not have time to stick his nose in any book anyway, because first of all he will help us to understand this," Constantin objected and held the cards up a little.

"And should we get tired of playing, we could always rehearse a piece with the help of the books," he continued, his eyes glowing.

He and Amal had always been easy to excite – when it came to the right things.

"I doubt the crew is just waiting to see a piece of Javelot," Emile said.

"Then we will read it with distributed roles – Malia and I hardly know anything about him, after all. That should provide some distraction," Constantin said.

"But first – a game. Let us find out what it is all about," he added and pulled out a few pages of writing.

"Start reading, I will be right back with you," Amal replied before she rose and turned around. She headed straight for the soldier and only stopped when she had reached him.

Similar to her cousins, she sat down in the squatting position, which put her on a par with her former teacher. She had a small, dark blue bag in her hand, which she held out to him.

"What's that?" he wanted to know.

The little bag looked similar to the one she had given to Emile, except for the color.

"A gift," she replied, and a smile fell on her lips.

"Why?" he asked. He had known the three for twelve years. Never had the mercenary been given anything by anyone at court, except Lady de Furet and Fayette. But it had been different with both of them, because Kurt had been with them in one way or another. The greenhorns, on the other hand, had been his students and even when that time was over, the responsibility for their safety was still his.

"Why not?" she held up her hand and her smile widened a little.

Kurt reached out for the bag and took it from her. The fabric was soft and thicker than he'd expected. He pulled up the cord and looked inside.

"I was not sure what I could give you," she began, as he reached into the small bag and shortly afterwards pulled out a wooden cup. The wood was dark and completely smooth inside. Around the outer edge, at the top and bottom, there was a tendril-like carving with gilded leaves. Inside the cup were a few cubes, as dark as the cup and also with gilded numbers. The soldier felt others in the bag and let them slide into the cup with a rattling sound.

"I am not sure what exactly you are doing when you are not watching over us. I know that some of the guards of other nobles throw the dice while they wait for the balls and other celebrations to end," she added, and only now did the guard look at her again.

Amal's gaze was inquiring as she looked from him to the cup in his hand and back again.

"Because dice games are short. If you suddenly have to leave, the loss isn't that high," he explained and put the cup and its contents back into the small bag.

"To be honest, I'm more of a card player," he added, whereupon the young woman raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Then I was wrong about two presents," she concluded.

"I had thought of giving you a new grindstone and oil, but... that would look as if I was giving you something in return for taking even better care of us, and a pair of new boots would have been practical overall, but not for passing the time here," she added, raising her shoulders.

"You've given it some thought," he noted.

A crooked smile lay on Amalia's lips. "Obviously not enough. Otherwise I would not have been so wrong with Emile and you."

"You're not entirely wrong about me. And this is the first time that either of you have ever given me anything. Thank you," he nodded to her, whereupon her face brightened a bit.

"Next time I will try to find something more suitable," she replied.

"If you want to keep the rhythm, you have twelve years," he answered.

Amal grinned: "I do not think I will take that much time. But it is nice to hear that you still want to be with us then."

"As long as you pay," the mercenary countered, which she answered with the usual rolling of the eyes.

"Malia! We think we got it!", Constantin shouted at that moment.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Kurt – how about it, ready for a game?" the future governor added and his eyes wandered from his cousin to his former teacher.

"If you can lose, greenhorn," he countered and stood up. Amal did the same.

"Oho! We will see about that," the young governor returned laughing.

Kurt and Amal went over to the two of them and settled down opposite them.

"Let's hear it – how is that going to work?", the soldier asked.

"The goal of the game is to have as little sum as possible on your hand," Emile began to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a suggestion from JovialKoala I changed the style a bit. If you haven't checked out [The Waiting Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267353/chapters/63942886) by JovialKoala, I highly recommend it :)


	13. Kurt – Amalia's Lie

**Twelve years ago**

He walked down the corridor that led to Her Excellency's salon. The evening sun fell through the high windows on his right as he passed by paintings showing some deceased or perhaps still living members of the Congregation. Kurt Pakusch had been master of arms of the three cousins Constantin, Emile and Amalia for a few weeks. The former was the heir of the merchant prince, the other two his permanent companions, although so far only the girl had shown some kind of talent for handling weapons. The two boys were nevertheless equally trained by him – they would be able to fight, but they would not outdo him, he was sure of that. The little girl on the other hand... she meant work, he had already guessed that when they first met. She was stubborn, and after the first few hours of practice she had hurled accusations at him that one wouldn't expect from a young girl of noble birth – but in the end all children were probably the same: cheeky, impetuous and difficult to control.

It didn't take a month before she had accused Kurt of trying to touch her during a training session. Which was only partly true – he had actually wanted to correct her posture. He probably should have guessed that the girl had accused him of trying to touch her in a completely different way.

Kurt had replied without further ado that he was not at all interested in what was under her clothes. He was here to teach them how to use weapons, but if she preferred to fight this way, she should do it elsewhere.

The incident had happened just four days ago. Since then, Amalia had never said anything in training and that had made it much quieter. Nevertheless, the twelve-year-old had given him defiant looks, which he had confidently ignored. He had survived more battles than these children had experienced winters. He would not be intimidated by something like this.

The servant who had led Kurt down the hall stopped at the door and knocked. Both men only had to wait a moment until they were called in.

"Your Excellency – Kurt Pakusch", the servant reported the already obvious and bowed before Josette d'Orsay – princess of the merchant community. She was not yet forty years old, and Kurt knew that there were women who were only half her age, but who would have given anything for the princess' appearance. Her hair shone in the colour of harvest ripe grain in the evening sun and in her grey eyes there was a sting in the green. But above all, her upright posture and her manner betrayed that she was very well aware of her position. She had been sitting in one of the armchairs made of the dark wood of the Makkua tree, but had stood up when the two men entered.

With a slight nod, the princess indicated to the servant that he could leave. The man immediately complied with the request and shortly afterwards they were alone. That is... not completely alone, for only now did Kurt notice Amalia's slender figure standing next to one of the ceiling-high windows, half concealed by the shadow of the wall which it cast in the setting sun.

"Kurt. My niece has brought charges against you. I am sure you know what I am talking about," the princess began.

The guard's gaze had wandered from the girl to the adult.

"If it's about me correcting her posture – I'm supposed to train the children in weapons. There is no way to avoid getting close to each other. I am not Lord de Courcillon. I cannot instruct them with words alone," he explained. He was aware that his answer probably carried no weight for her.

"She told nothing of this. It is about what happened after the training. Amalia, tell us what you told me earlier," she demanded of her niece.

The girl had remained silent until then, but out of the corner of his eye he had noticed that she had looked at him. Now that she had become the center of attention, her gaze wandered to the ground and she cleared her throat quietly.

"He kept me there after practice. For a... 'special unit', as he called it," she murmured.

Kurt couldn't believe his ears. That hadn't happened. Not that he hadn't thought about giving her a lesson in how to behave. In the form of thirty extra push-ups. Not in the way she just hinted.

"Speak up," the princess interrupted her niece.

Again the girl cleared her throat and her gaze flickered briefly in the direction of her trainer, but it reached Kurt's boots at most.

"He kept me there to teach me a lesson. I didn't like the way he looked at me and..."

"You should look at him when you do that. The people will not believe your accusations if you do not manage to look into the eyes of those against whom you bring them out," demanded her aunt with severity in her voice.

The girl raised her gaze. In her eyes there was almost a similar grey as her aunt's, but it seemed a little darker.

"He said we could not do this unit with so much clothing and that I should undress. When I did not comply with his request, he approached me and stripped off my vest and shortly afterwards pulled the tunic over my head. As he reached for the waistband of my trousers, I protested. I had no idea what he meant. But he just grinned and said that nobody would believe me anyway. I pushed him off me and somehow he tripped and fell backwards. Then I ran away," the young noblewoman described.

The soldier had never heard such a brazen lie – at least not when he knew for sure that the truth had been quite different. A tiny part was almost impressed that Amalia managed to tell her story very coherently and confidently. She would later make herself great at court with all its intrigues. How Kurt despised these nobles and their lies...

The far greater part of him, however, wondered whether he would leave the palace alive again.

"And this is exactly how it happened?" the elder noblewoman replied.

The girl nodded.

"Amalia, I asked you a question!"

"Yes, that is the truth," said this one vehemently and glared at her aunt.

The guardsman did not know why, but the confirmation of the lie upset him even more. Only that it would not help him to keep his head on his shoulders. He was just a mercenary, hired to teach the offspring of nobles. He had guessed that this task would not be easy and that he might be thrown out after a few weeks. He hadn't seen it coming that this employment might end with his death, because a little noble snotty brat couldn't control her temper and made up a walloping lie about him.

The princess bowed her head slightly before looking at the soldier.

"What do you have to say to this?" she wanted to know.

"She is lying, Your Excellency. Yes, she stormed out of training four days ago – after she accused me of... touching her inappropriately when I corrected her position. But her two cousins were also present and only left after her," the guard replied. He had not survived the night training to end up in the palace hanging by a rope.

The adult watched him for a moment longer.

"Constantin and Emile both confirmed this independently of each other," she replied calmly, before quickly turning her head towards her niece: "You left the training before them. And nobody saw you storming through the palace half-naked."

"But... I... it was evening! After practice! He came to see me and..." she began.

"Kurt was on patrol that night with other soldiers. And the other evenings, too. You lied, Amalia," her aunt interrupted her again.

The girl's gaze flew to the ground and for a moment the guard thought she was going to storm out of the room again, but she remained exactly where she was.

"What do we do if there is too much evidence against us?" her aunt asked her, with no indulgence in her voice.

"We say sorry," muttered the girl.

"We ask for forgiveness," the elder princess corrected her.

Silence seemed to descend upon the room, not unlike the sun in front of the high windows.

"We are waiting, Amalia", her aunt said.

"Forgive me," mumbled the little one.

"More clearly. With eye contact," demanded the noblewoman.

Amalia raised her eyes and looked directly at the soldier.

"Please forgive me, Kurt, for my lie," she finally said, before laying one arm lightly on her back, the other hand on her belly, indicating a bow in his direction, briefly breaking eye contact, but then looking at the soldier again.

Her aunt nodded, apparently satisfied with the process.

"Kurt?", she wanted to know and turned to him.

The soldier was not far from turning on his heels, leaving the palace and never coming back. But he knew that his commander would not approve of a sudden break in relations with the de Sardet and d'Orsay families. Kurt would therefore not only lose a well-paid post, but probably also a part of the support of the Guard. So he forced himself to nod slightly, "It's all right."

"Good. Amalia, you may go," her aunt closed the subject, her voice making it clear that her niece should leave the room.

The girl looked past Kurt and complied with the request, which almost astonished the soldier. Only when the door had closed quietly behind her and the sound of her footsteps in the corridor had faded away did her aunt continue: "She will have to learn to lie more convincingly if she wants to get away with it one day."

Only then did she look at the soldier again.

"I suppose you can be persuaded with a suitable sum to keep quiet about this incident?" she asked.

For a moment the guard didn't know what to answer when it occurred to him that the princess had not been concerned that Amalia had lied, but that she had not done it convincingly enough. He knew why he preferred to fight on the battlefield – it was much more honest there than in the palaces of the nobility.

Nevertheless he forced himself to nod again.

"Good. I will see to it that a well-filled coin purse finds its way to you," she replied.

"May I leave?" he asked.

He hated these rules of conduct at court.

"One more thing: You know what would have happened to you if there had been even the slightest chance that she was not lying, do you not?"

"Your Excellency, I would never take advantage of one of my protégés in this way," the soldier replied.

Kurt hadn't missed out on anything in the past, but there were things one just didn't do, and one of them was exactly that: approaching a pupil with an intention other than that of a mentor. Even if said pupil might have thought he or she had feelings for the teacher that went beyond the usual relationship between instructor and apprentice.

"Good. If your attitude toward them should ever change, I recommend that you leave our services before you give even a thought to approaching them in any other way. Otherwise, it may be your last," the princess explained.

"You may leave," she added, pointing with her hand towards the door.

Like his student shortly before, he quickly complied with the request. And it took him a lot of effort not to slam the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In most RPG scenes, I try out all variations of the conversation process to learn as much as possible about the characters. I don't know how many of you chose the "Was there more between you?" variant when you played through the conversation with Kurt regarding Reiner, but I really liked Kurt's reaction at that point: I feel like he's never really raising his voice during the in game conversations (even after the fight against the corrupted guardian). Only at that certain point. Since I wanted to illustrate this certain feature of him (without rewriting the game scene), I wrote this one. Don't worry – the matter will be solved in the near future.  
> Last but not least: Thanks to another guest for the kudos :)


	14. Kurt - Things that can be set right

**Today**

"Is that all?" Amal wanted to know, and looked at him.

The distance between them was only a few arm's length. The space for training on the ship was limited, the captain had restricted it even further by having lines drawn with chalk on the deck.

The young noblewoman stood opposite him, knees slightly bent, hands in front of her, just as he had taught her and her cousins the basic position of unarmed close combat.

He had chased the three greenhorns through a training session at noon today, until their tunics clung to their bodies, wet with sweat. Constantin and Emile had already retired to freshen up, as they called it.

"Are you sure you want to continue this and not rather follow your cousins?" he followed up as he studied her posture. She offered him no real point of attack. He was a little proud of having done his job so well despite all the adversities of the last few years.

"Unlike them, I am not made out of sugar," she replied with a grin.

Mentally, he agreed with her. The soldier was also convinced that her cousins wanted to avoid the rain, which had started as a light drizzle a few minutes ago. Meanwhile drops were splashing on the deck and the crackling of the water hitting the ocean waves drowned out many of the other sounds.

"So to the end," he concluded, taking a step aside in the hope of getting her to let her guard down for a moment when she needed to realign herself.

"As usual," replied Amal, and her smile became a touch more mischievous.

In fact, she had been the one who had been dragging out the training for years – not because she was making so little progress, but because she still wanted to do a unit, sometimes much to the displeasure of her two cousins, who had also always had to stay longer. After the incident twelve years ago, Kurt had been careful for a long time not to be alone with his female student. Even though – at least as far as he knew – she had never again made an attempt to discredit him as she did during his first weeks in the palace.

She followed his movements and then he finally saw an unprotected spot. He pushed his heels off the wet planks and made a leap towards her. Amal swerved to the side, but got hold of his right arm. While he was still half in the air, she dived under him. But just as she was taking advantage of his momentum and he realized which throw she was about to make, something went wrong. For instead of throwing him past her, she suddenly pulled him down with her. Kurt felt a pull in his shoulder and thought he could hear the crackling sound despite the clatter of the rain as the joint shifted further than it should have. Pain flared up in his shoulder, superimposing the one when his hip hit the deck.

The young noblewoman gave a gasp when she also collided with the planks.

"Are you hurt?", she asked as she tried to stand up, which made the pain in his arm flow over his shoulder like liquid fire. It was a moment before the soldier noticed that the fall of his upper body had been absorbed by hers, but that was exactly why her movements made his arm slip to the side.

He carefully supported himself with his other hand on the wet wood underneath them before he brought himself into a sitting position.

"Nothing that can't be set right again," he replied. At least the rain cooled his shoulder. Even if that didn't help in the long run.

"You..." at that moment, her eyes grew larger.

"Your shoulder!", it escaped her and she slipped over the wet planks to him until she sat next to him.

"I am so sorry! I did not mean to," she quickly added. Her tone of voice was higher than when she had asked him before.

"It can happen," he replied.

"Really, Kurt, I am very sorry," Amal said again.

"Let's just set the shoulder back in place," he just said.

"Yes, right ... let us try this somewhere where it is dry before something else goes wrong," she replied, slowly seeming to recover. Then she rose and made a move towards the door leading below deck.

"It's easier when I'm lying down," he objected.

The young woman stopped and looked down at him. "There are beds for that, and at least they are dry," she returned and stretched out her left arm in his direction. Kurt looked at the offered hand.

"I do not want to slip on the floor again. Otherwise I might make everything worse," she added.

Finally, the soldier nodded, but ignored her hand and stood up using his left.

"It's easier this way," he explained as he met the questioning gaze of his former student.

She nodded and her face brightened a little at once. "I was afraid that I would not be allowed to help you up after this," she said before she turned away and quickly walked towards the door. She stopped it so that Kurt could go through.

"If I was afraid of anyone after such an incident, it would affect half of my comrades," he returned. As the door closed behind them, he stopped for a moment to get used to the darkness. He stretched out his left hand and guided his way along the wall. He touched a door, behind which presumably one of the other two nobles was staying, at least some light fell out of the gap below into the corridor, as well as under the door diagonally to his right.

"My cabin is the last one on the left," she said behind him. Kurt started to move and, followed by the young noblewoman, went down the corridor.

Amal opened the door and held it open again until Kurt had stepped through. The cabin was small: two steps in front of him began the frame of the bed. The furniture was attached to the wall, the length of which was also the longest in the room. Next to the headboard was a board, which probably served as a desk. In front of it was a stool.

"Lie down," she said, pointing to her bed.

"I'm completely soaked," he returned.

"It is only water. It will dry again," she said and repeated the gesture.

Kurt expelled the air and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots with his left hand only. He was annoyed that he was so slow, but every movement seemed to radiate directly into his right shoulder, only fanning the fire of pain. He knew that the sensation would quickly subside once his shoulder was back where it belonged.

He heard Amal shouting down the hall: "Constantin! Emile!"

Almost instantly, the sound of a door closing was heard, followed by hurrying steps. Just as the guardsman was getting upright again, the future governor appeared in the doorway and his cousin right behind him.

"I need light," she said to them.

"What happened?", Constantin inquired.

"Dislocated shoulder," replied Kurt, who at the same time tried not to feel uncomfortable under the young nobleman's gaze. This situation could easily be interpreted against him...

"Would a doctor not be better suited for this matter?" Constanin investigated.

"I am sure I can handle it," she replied.

"But only if I have enough light. Now!", she demanded of them.

"Do not worry, dearest cousin, we will not leave you in the dark," Constantin replied, with a smile flowing over his lips, probably due to the pun, which only came to the soldier's mind when the two noblemen had disappeared from his field of vision. In the case of the young governor, however, the absence did not last long. This time, both the sound of his footsteps and the approaching light announced him.

Amal took the oil lamp from her cousin. She took a small cloth and put it around the glass, which protected the flame from drafts, to raise it. Then she lit the wick of the lamp on her table before putting the glass back over it and returning it to her cousin.

"What exactly happened?" he wanted to know and his gaze wandered from his cousin to his former teacher.

"The deck was wet and instead of turning Kurt's attack into a throw, I slipped and dislocated his shoulder in the fall," reported Amal.

"I suspected that training in the rain was not a good idea. I hope it is a lesson for you", Constantin replied.

"On the battlefield, you can't choose the weather either," Kurt countered. Although he had to look up to his former student, he seemed to shrink a little under the eyes of the master of arms.

"True. I hope your injury will not leave any permanent damage," the young nobleman replied.

"It won't. And it won't stop me from chasing you three across the deck again tomorrow," the soldier prophesied to him.

"Nevertheless, I would like to start here. So get out, the cabin is already too small for two people," she shooed her cousin out.

Constantin hinted a bow before he took a step back and closed the door behind him. Amal turned to the guard and her gaze wandered to his injured arm.

"We should make sure you have not broken anything when we fell," she said as she took the lamp and lit another one, which was attached to the wall above the bed. She then put the first oil lamp back on the table and turned the wick out a little so that the flame grew bigger and gave off more light.

"I don't believe this happened," he replied as the young woman turned to him.

"I will check your arm anyway. Better safe than sorry," she replied and pulled up the stool to sit on it. Then she reached for the soldier's right hand and pushed hers under the back of his hand. With her left hand she carefully pressed first on his wrist, then on his forearm before she let both her hands wander a little further over the wet fabric of Kurt's tunic and repeated the procedure.

The guardsman turned his gaze forward, but there was not much to see. Due to the slight flickering of the oil lamps the shadow of the noblewoman danced over the wood. He did not want to stare at his former student. He had seen her grow up. There were some lines that were better not crossed. Not that Amal made it particulary easy for him in that regard. She had grown from a snotty-nosed twelve-year-old with too much temperament for her slender body to a young woman who had made sure that some heads turned after her at court when she passed by. It was only partly due to her appearance. She knew how to tuck her hair up to emphasize her slim neck, even though she had always simply tucked her hair together at the back of her neck during training. Her nose was almost as big as Emile's. He was able to soften this with his brown full beard, Amal lacked the advantage. But the look from her grey eyes, with a small part in the left one, which was darker, had something very determining. Like her aunt, the young woman knew exactly who she was and how far her privileges extended.

Kurt remembered that it was a few months before her twentieth birthday when the question of what Amal would look like without clothes crossed his mind. And what she would feel like. The soldier had been visiting the brothel more regularly than before and that was the end of the matter. No more distractions during training or afterwards. And he didn't want to give those thoughts any room now. Which was helped in this moment by the fact that he had to grit his teeth in pain. Her touches had hardly been felt near her hand, but they had become more painful the further she had worked her way up his upper arm.

"I do not hear any bones crunching – let us hope I am correct with the diagnosis," she finally said as she reached the shoulder.

"Lie down," she asked him again and pointed her head to the headboard of her bed.

"You can do that while I'm sitting, too," he objected.

"A moment ago you said it was easier lying down. Let us hope I am better than Emile and Constantin," she replied, repeating the gesture.

The guardsman gave up. He was able to stand up to her on the training ground. Outside it was different, but he knew he was not alone in this: When Amalia d'Orsay set her mind to something, there was hardly anyone who could stand up to her. The only exceptions were her two cousins. And occasionally their parents - if they found the right leverage. He turned to the side and slowly let himself sink backwards onto the mattress.

"All right," she said, sounding as if she was trying to bolster herself up while she put her hand around his wrist. She pushed her other hand under her elbow.

"Pull evenly," he reminded her and glanced at her.

She had pressed her lips together, but nodded. Then she leaned back slightly and began to pull his arm away from his torso. He felt the stretch increase, then there was a muffled bang. The pain subsided instantly and Kurt expelled the air.

"That's it," he told her.

"Really?" She sounded surprised, but came back to the bed and carefully put his arm down.

The soldier nodded and slowly straightened up again.

"It took much longer with me then," she said and pulled her eyebrows together slightly.

"Or it seemed to you because your two cousins couldn't manage it," the guard conjectured as he tried to stand up. When Amal was sixteen, something similar had happened to her during training. Constantin had miscalculated and dislocated his cousin's shoulder.

"You need a sling," replied Amal. "Wait a moment, I will get you something," she added and left the cabin.

The mercenary settled back on the edge of the bed and heard her take a few steps down the hall, followed by another door. Shortly afterwards, a rumble and a suppressed curse sounded from the cabin on the right. Another rumble followed, then her steps came back again.

"You have the choice between light green and dark red, I was not able to find anything else in a flash," she said. His former student held two wide scarves in her hand, of which one probably cost more than Kurt earned in a week.

"I'm sure I'll find something else," the soldier objected.

"You should fix the arm immediately – not later. So, which one do you want?" she wanted to know and briefly moved both scarves.

Resigned, the guard stretched out his healthy hand for the light green cloth, but he could not reach it.

"This one? The other one would bring out your eyes better", Amal replied.

Kurt looked at her from the scarf.

"Do you really think I care about something like that?" he asked. For a moment he thought he saw something like insecurity flickering across her face, but then she turned away a little and threw the dark red cloth towards her pillow.

"Your decision," she only said and approached him.

"I can..." he began.

"You are hurt. And I caused it, so I am responsible. You got Constantin to take care of me then, too," she reminded him, while she sat down on the stool again and unfolded the cloth. Kurt could see that a pattern of diamonds had been woven into it. Perhaps it was more like a week and a half's wages that the garment was worth, as fine as the threads looked.

"You told Emile to give him his scarf and then Constantin made me a sling. He was almost proud of himself afterwards," she remembered, with a smile in the corner of her mouth as she pulled the fabric so far that she could grasp the middle.

"However, I have always wondered why you asked him and Emile to put my shoulder back into place before you showed them how to do it," she added, while she carefully lifted his right arm and bedded it on the cloth.

"Didn't want anyone to accuse me of taking advantage of the vulnerability of my protégés," he replied.

Kurt could just see her eyebrows drawn together, then she bent over and brought the scarf together from both sides behind his neck.

"You? Taking advantage of us? Who said anything like that?" he heard her ask not far from his ear. He felt one of her hands brush briefly across his neck as she tied the ends of the cloth together. Then she leaned back and sat down on the stool again.

"You," he replied and let his arm sink into the sling as a test.

The shoulder still hurt, but much less than before, and as far as he could tell, the scarf was the right length for him to carry the main load of the arm.

"Me?" she repeated and surprise resonated in her voice.

"You don't remember?" he asked, looking up from the light green fabric. He knew that the little bad liar had turned into a pretty good one. He had not only been their master of arms, he had been responsible for the safety of the three of them often enough to see how they had slipped through the courtly intrigues. Whereby Amal had come through much more coordinated than her two cousins. And who had initiated one or two of them herself.

She shook her head.

"After our first few weeks you told your aunt that I tried to undress you," he replied sternly. It was not one of his most fond memories.

"I did what?", she replied and laughed briefly. But when her gaze met his, she became more serious again.

"I guess it was probably not very pleasant for you. Why did I do that?" she wanted to know, curiosity seeming to resonate in her voice.

The soldier raised his shoulders – for which he was promptly punished with pain in the right one.

"I have only been with you a few weeks and have corrected you a lot. A few days earlier you were angry when I criticized your posture and touched you. That was the first time you had insinuated that I... tried to take advantage of my position," he continued.

"When I told you that I didn't care what was hidden under your clothes and that you should fight with such tricks elsewhere, you stormed away angrily. I had thought that that was the end of it, but before the end of the week you were trying to convince your aunt that I was trying to abuse you," he added.

Amal had listened to him, put her hands together and slightly narrowed her eyebrows. Only towards the end had her gaze wandered away from his eyes. Now she looked at the wall next to him, but it seemed as if she was looking at a point far behind. Finally she nodded.

"I think I remember. My aunt made me tell you what I had told her. I was hoping you'd get thrown out because I was so angry with you. Never before have I been told I am doing something wrong as often as I have in your training," she said and looked at him again.

"I was not thinking about the consequences then," she confessed.

"If my aunt had not seen through the lie, it would have cost you your life, would it not?" she finally asked.

The soldier nodded, "Very likely."

Thereupon her eyebrows moved up a little. "I certainly did not mean to – but I was twelve. I had no idea what I was doing."

"Thought so."

"Still, I should not have done that. I was a real monster," she concluded.

"A monster with potential," he admitted.

"Did you see it that way back then?" she wanted to know.

"After the first week I was convinced that you were the only one of you who could ever win a duel. But the other two have been doing quite well," the soldier said.

It was true – Constantin was a reasonable fencer and Emile would at least be able to take on a simple soldier if he had to fight with weapons. Which was mainly because Emile relied more on his magic, with which he could keep enemies in check far better than with his sword.

"And despite my lie, you stayed," she said.

"It was easy money compared to the other duties of a soldier," he replied, causing Amal to roll her eyes.

"Of course, it was only the precious money. Do not pretend that you did not enjoy chasing us around the training yard all these years and putting us in our place," she countered.

"As I said – easy money," he said, smiling slightly.

"It almost cost you your head, though. And I think I never said I was sorry," she replied seriously.

"Your aunt has made you apologize, and for the incident has once again increased my monthly wages," he replied.

"I think we both know that I meant it about as seriously as Constantin did when he said that he was happy to dine with his parents. And you cannot compensate all things with money, as Emile always says," she objected.

"It was a long time ago," he replied.

"That makes a sincere apology all the more important: Please forgive me, Kurt. I did not think and it could easily have cost you your life. And if I have made your task as master of arms more difficult in any other way, I am also sorry," she said and lowered her head for a moment.

The mercenary examined his former student. Unlike the petite girl who had stood before him twelve years ago, she seemed honest. Yet it was unusual – no one apologized to a simple soldier, except Emile and, on very rare occasions, Constantin, the latter, following the nature of his mother, always accompanied such words with a sum of money. Amal usually played down events or made her counterpart feel guilty if they were not her cousins. Until now, the guard had only seen her behaving like that towards them. The rest of the family had always been treated with the proper etiquette, but one did not have to be a nobleman to see through the fact that she had merely followed rules.

"Apology granted?" he finally said, not sure what response was appropriate in this situation.

A slight smile appeared on her lips as she raised her head again.

"Good. And just for the record, I never had the impression that you were approaching either of us in an improper manner. I do not know how I came up with that at the time," she said.

"Maybe you heard somewhere that you get rid of such unpleasant employees," the soldier surmised.

"Probably. It was still not a nice move on my part. In comparison, the shoulder is probably a pleasant side effect," she said.

"At least one expected. In a few days it will be as good as new," Kurt replied and stood up.

"I am glad to hear that. Otherwise it would be very boring on this boat if I could only fight Emile and Constantin," she replied and stood up as well.

"You can take the cabin next door. We store our things there, but we will just put them here with us," she added and pointed her head to the wall on her left, behind which the soldier had heard rumbling when she had looked for the scarf.

"My things are stored with the crew," he held against it.

"Climbing ladders with one hand is careless, which you are not," she replied smiling.

"Anyway, I never understood why you are not staying with us. You belong with us – not with the Nauts," she added.

"That almost sounds as if it was a bad thing to belong to them," the soldier said.

"That... no, I did not mean that. It is just... they are the staff. All we have in common is money changing hands, for which they take us to Teer Fradee. You trained and mentored us for over a decade. No matter how hard you try to tell yourself you are family," she explained.

"A not exactly easy family with a difficult background and ungrateful children, if you believe my aunts and uncle, but you could have quit at some point," she added shrugging her shoulders and grinning a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the Kudos, guest Nr 7 :)  
> And if Tammy, who created this [Kurt-Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06ACkOhrsETsOoMyQJRxgH?si=mz6tCpwHQLi5q20uDDZ2vg) on Spotify, reads this by any chance: I do like this playlist :) I didn't know most of the artists and thus not the songs as well, but I find most of them quite fitting. So, thanks for sharing that :)


	15. Vasco - White Squall

**Today**

The weather was calm, the sun was shining and the Cavalo-Marinho gently plowed through the waves. They were on the move quickly. If things stayed that way, they might reach Teer Fradee a week earlier. Vasco stood on the afterdeck, next to him stood his first mate Gumercinda – who was simply called Cinda. She kept the helm steady, which was no feat in the current sea state, but she was just as good at it when the waves slapped the deck and the crew had to be careful not to fall out of the shrouds.

The d'Orsays stood at the bow, both leaning on the railing in their backs, and chatted with each other while the soldier played cards with some of the crew members who were off duty not far from them. De Sardet was also on the afterdeck. He had turned up about half an hour ago with a book and had asked the captain if he would be bothered if he sat in a corner and read. Slowly Vasco got the impression that the ambassador seemed to consist only of politeness. From this point of view he was probably a good choice for his post on Teer Fradee.

Cinda was just turning the wheel when a call came from the lookout: "White squall from astern!"

The Naut whirled around. Indeed – the crests of the waves wore treacherous white crowns and they were rapidly approaching.

"White squall! Reef the sails! Passengers below!" he barked.

Instantly the crew came to life, even before Cinda had repeated the orders with the bosun's whistle. The card players jumped up and climbed up to the sails to catch up, while his mate looked over her shoulder and grabbed the helm tighter.

"This will be fun," she murmured, still with the whistle between her teeth.

Only his passengers were lethargic. The future governor, accompanied by the guardsman, strolled towards the quarterdeck.

"Is there trouble, brave captain?" he wanted to know.

"Below deck. Immediately!" he replied, but by then the Cavalo-Marinho was already bucking. Suddenly, water and snow whirled through the air so that one could hardly see anything. The sea raged like a betrayed lover and the wind howled so loudly that one could no longer understand a word. Vasco clawed his hands around the railing. He knew that Cinda could hold the wheel. And that they had to endure this madness for only a short time. White squalls often came without warning and disappeared just as quickly. The ship was thrown from side to side as if it were the toy of an upset child.

The Naut saw the mercenary pull the nobleman with him across the wet deck towards the cabins. The Cavalo-Marinho leaned precariously to one side before being unexpectedly thrown in the opposite direction. The wind drove her ahead of it – despite the sails being at least partially reefed. Cinda made the helm dance to compensate for the movements of the bucking sea. Just as she steered in the opposite direction again, a scream rang out.

Vasco pulled up his head and saw a figure fall only a few arm's lengths in front of him. And then stop in midair, as if an invisible net had been stretched there. The ship continued to plough through the waves – suddenly the Naut was within Vasco's reach. The captain continued to hold on to the railing with one hand while he reached for Flavia with the other and pulled her up.

As it turned out one blink of the eye later, he could have saved himself the trouble. As the ship continued to drift forward, the two Nauts collided roughly and fell to the ground. Vasco coughed and with one hand blindly reached for the railing above his head to avoid sliding over the deck while the Cavalo-Marinho continued to lurch over the waves. With the other he clasped his crew member so that she would not be washed away from the ship. He heard someone calling out, but could not understand what. It was just a word, but whatever it was – the rushing wind made it impossible to understand anything.

Another wave threw the ship to the side and the Naut felt the muscles in his arm protest as he slid across the quarterdeck. The cold in his face made the tip of his nose numb and water ran into his eyes.

And then – as quickly as it had started – it was over. The Cavalo-Marinho rocked a little more, but apart from that it was quiet.

"Lucky," Cinda said to him from above him. When Vasco looked up at her, she just took her hands off the wheel, and her white ankles slowly returned to a normal colour. Like the captain and everyone else on deck, she was completely soaked. A few strands of her dark hair hung in her face and seemed to match the tattoos.

"Thank you, Captain", Flavia said after she had rolled herself off him. "That was close," she added, not quite knowing what had happened, following her expression.

"I didn't do anything," he held against it as he took the offered hand and let her pull him onto his feet. As he looked around, he spotted de Sardet sitting on the side of a step of the control board stairs and holding on to the railing. He looked around as if he did not yet trust the peace.

"It's over," the captain assured him and walked towards the nobleman.

He tried to free his legs from the banister. Apparently, he had thought it a good idea to hold on to it additionally. Not the stupidest idea, as Vasco had to admit.

"Did you just..." but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by a shout before he could ask the question if the ambassador had used magic, "Green Blood!"

Captain and diplomat looked at the soldier who hurried towards them from the bow.

"Amal was washed overboard," he reported, his voice sounding even darker than before.

"What? How?"

"Were you just in the same storm as me?" the guardsman returned with a rumble.

Vasco put his own whistle to his lips without further ado and blew in two quick sequences. The first was to keep the sails reefed, so that they would not take up speed and might possibly move away from the young woman. And the second was that the lookout should watch out for people who had gone overboard.

A squeaking sound was heard, followed by hurried steps and the voice of the future governor: "Emile, Kurt... where is Malia?"

Vasco had brought out his spyglass. "Cinda, port," he just said. His first mate nodded at him, ordered Flavia to the helm and did the same. Both Nauts stepped to the railing on opposite sides and searched the sea.

He heard de Sardet answer in a flat voice, "No longer on board."

"No! It cannot be!", it escaped his cousin.

Waves, water, ocean. Vasco put down the spyglass for a moment and tried to see with the naked eye. The problem with people going overboard was that it was easy to miss them behind the crest of a wave. Therefore it was not advisable to let one' s gaze wander too quickly across the water, even if instincts drove one to hurry.

"Is she able to swim?" called Cinda over to the nobles.

Vasco had already asked himself the same question. It wasn't something the landwalkers were used to. At the moment, the answer to that question would not really help them. Non-swimmers and swimmers drowned almost equally in the Naut's experience. Moreover, they could not easily abandon the search.

"A little? It is enough for a calm lake," replied the ambassador, with doubts clearly audible in his voice.

"Could save her life out there," said Cinda, although she sounded less confident.

"We will find her, by all means!" d'Orsay held against it agitatedly.

Vasco glanced at the two nobles. They climbed up the quarterdeck and rushed to a railing to look for their lost cousin as well.

The captain did not share their enthusiasm. Even if she could swim, it was possible that the storm had washed her away too far. Unless she hit her head when falling overboard. Or lost her bearings underwater. Nevertheless, the Naut put the spyglass on again. He hadn't lost anyone for twenty-three trips. He would not start today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everybody :)
> 
> The nautical phenomenon "white squall" is categorized as "unexpected things in an author's browsing history". This also includes the use of the bosun's whistle to pass on orders.  
> The new chapter will be published in the new year. Stay healthy and have a happy new year!


	16. Kurt – Amal's return

**Today**

The soldier had remained on the lower deck, but he too had looked out to sea. Although he could hardly imagine that this would make his former student reappear after she had been washed off board.

It had seemed like hours to him, although it had only been minutes before the relieving call "Person, starboard ahead!" had been heard. The Nauts had launched the dinghy, and it was only with great persuasion that the captain succeeded in preventing Constantin and Emile from accompanying him. Presumably the argument that both of them had no experience at all with rowing and would therefore hardly get out of the water and that it would take even longer to rescue their cousin, had then persuaded them to stay on the ship.

Nevertheless, the two of them had reminded Kurt very much of the two boys he had started training over a dozen years ago, how they had stood excitedly at the railing and watched what was happening at sea. But even the soldier had felt relief when the boat approached them again and he could make out Amal's figure on the back bench.

When she had come aboard, Constantin had helped her over the railing and pulled her into his arms immediately, followed by Emile, who had embraced them both without further ado. Kurt liked to claim to be a cold-hearted mercenary – but seeing the three of them together again had brought him some kind of relief. And he knew that this was not just about the fact that it would not have been an award for his abilities as a bodyguard if they had not found Amal again. The three had always been together. Nobody, no intrigue and nothing else had been able to tear them apart, and the soldier was a little grateful that at least today he had not had to watch them lose each other. Even though this event had once again shown him how fleeting some things could be that were taken for granted.

Finally, Amal had released herself from both of them in order to change her clothes. She had come aboard in the captain's coat, without boots and dripping wet.

The Nauts had resumed their work, while Emile and Constantin had started talking. Kurt had turned away, his arms crossed and looked out to sea.

Although he knew that the three greenhorns were doing well and that they were safe for the time being, there remained an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, like at the end of a bad cold. He knew he shouldn't get sentimental – if only because his loyalty should lie first with the guard and only then with his employer. But he had never been so close to losing one of the three and at the same time being so powerless:

_Kurt looked at the cards in his hand. If he played the five, Alvara might have been forced to follow suit. If she had the right hand. Nivaldo and Dario had folded in the last two rounds, but were still sitting with them and watching their game._

_The day was quiet, the sun was shining and in the background he could hear the occasional laugh and scraps of conversation from Constantin and Amal, who were standing not far from them at the bow of the ship. Green Blood had disappeared somewhere with a book. Now and then Emile needed a little time for himself. He had already been like this as a child, and after all that the soldier had experienced at court, he could understand the ambassador's impulse._

_Suddenly, a call echoed across the deck from far above. Kurt had not been listening, but he raised his eyes._

_"White squall! Reef the sails! Passengers below deck!" barked the captain a moment later, and almost instantly several rapid whistles tore the calm apart._

_The soldier rose and although he was not slow, the Nauts were faster. Together with their other comrades who were on deck, they sprinted to the rope ladders leading up to the sails. Constantin and Amal approached the soldier._

_"Is something the matter?", the young woman inquired._

_"Apparently we're supposed to go below deck," said the guard._

_"Let us go and ask", the future governor suggested, and set off for the quarterdeck. Kurt did not like the whole thing, but when he let his eyes wander, the sea seemed calm. So he followed the nobleman._

_"Is there trouble, brave captain?" Constantin called up to the man next to the wheel._

_"Below deck. Immediately!", he commanded his passenger, and at that moment Kurt realized that something was very wrong._

_The calm ocean suddenly turned into a roaring sea and the deck seemed to tip sideways beneath them. Waves crashed on the planks and the soldier was just about to grab Constantin by the shoulder when the noble risked to slip. Wind whistled in their ears, rain rushed down on them as if it wanted to throw them onto the planks. It seemed to the mercenary as if there was snow too, but he did not take the time to watch the spectacle. Kurt pulled the young nobleman with him. Another shudder went through the ship and the roar of the waves drowned out all other sounds. Just as the door came within reach, the ship was thrown to the side. Kurt leapt forward, dragging Constantin with him, and got hold of the latch of the door. Just a moment later, the ship changed course again and they slid in the opposite direction. The door swung open – and Kurt somehow managed to push Constantin through._

_"Amalia!", he shouted._

_"I'll get her – stay here!"_

_Kurt had to scream to drown out the roar of the sea and the howling of the storm. Then the ship continued to sway – and the guard quickly pulled back his hand, thus preventing it from being crushed by the slamming door. The mercenary pressed himself against the wall in his back and let his gaze wander across the deck. The crates on which he and the Nauts had been sitting shortly before were gone. Just like Amal. The deck was empty. His eyes wandered to the masts. Maybe she had clung on it._

_When the ship bucked again, he used the momentum and let himself slide forward so that he could hold on to the first mast. But there was nobody here. Another lean angle and Kurt slipped and shortly after that crashed into the railing. His hands clung to it while he searched the masts. Empty. The soldier pulled himself up and almost got thrown off his feet again when the ship broke out to the side again. His gaze still flitted across the deck, but it remained as empty as the first time. Finally he turned around and looked out to sea. The waves threw the ship around furiously, rain and snow hampered his vision._

_"Amal!" he cried, but the word was torn from his lips. The storm raged so loud that he could not hear himself._

_Then, all of a sudden, it was over. The waves calmed down and the rain stopped. He continued to stare at the water, but Amal remained missing._

The voices of the two cousins became louder again and snatched Kurt from his memories. When he turned around, he saw that the young noblewoman had entered the deck again. Again Constantin embraced her and his cousin returned the gesture while Emile put a hand on her shoulder.

In fact, the pressure in the soldier's chest decreased as he watched this scene. Even though the oppressive feeling did not disappear completely. Sentimentality could shift loyalties. Something he could not afford.

Still, he interrupted his brooding when he noticed how his former student had broken away from her cousins with a smile and was now approaching him. She did not let him out of her sight for a moment, and with every step towards the guard, her face became more serious. For a moment, the question flashed through his mind whether she had just been fooling her cousins, or it was him she was fooling. For if the latter was the case, she was better at it than he had assumed.

"I know this was not my best performance. I'm sorry...", he began, but he broke off when she didn't stop. Instead, she dropped gently against him as she slid her arms under his and finally leaned her head against his shoulder.

For a moment he was too surprised to do anything. None of the three had ever hugged him.

She slowly took a breath and then expelled it again unused. Only then did the soldier get the idea to return the hug. He felt her wet hair on his cheek as he leaned his head slightly against hers and put his arms around her. It was nothing he did often. When he tried to remember the last time he had held someone, he could not recall a particular event. It had probably been years ago, back then with Fayette, and probably that was why he was so clumsy about it. He expected a cheeky comment from Amal at any moment, but she remained silent and kept holding him. It did not last long, but it was enough to drive the rest of the oppressive feeling out of his chest.

"Thank you," she finally muttered before she broke away from him.

He let her go as well, but examined her: "What for?"

Amal took a step back and looked down before she replied, "For bringing Constantin to safety. When I was washed away from the ship, I was afraid that you two were also carried away by the wave. As soon as I broke through the surface, I went looking for you. I panicked when I did not find anyone – and not only because I was afraid I would die in the sea. I thought maybe one of you was unconscious or even both of you."

Only then did she look at the soldier.

"Then the boat came and the captain told me that you took him to safety. Thank you," she repeated.

"It's my duty to ensure your safety," he objected.

"Yes, but ... not from such things. You have not been trained for this any more than we have," she said.

Amal leaned against the railing in her back and for a moment she pressed her lips together, while she ran her stretched fingers of her right hand over the palm of her left and finally closed the hand around her fingers. Her gaze had wandered back to her two cousins, who were talking to each other.

"When my father died, I was nine years old," she said, without taking her eyes off them.

Kurt had heard about it. He hadn't been at court then. Amal's mother had died giving birth to her. Armand d'Orsay, the younger brother of Prince Pascal d'Orsay and Princess Valerie de Sardet, had died in a carriage accident.

"I do not know much about him except that afterwards I was terribly angry and sad and helpless. I do not even remember if I really loved him. Or what his face looked like," she continued, and only at the last words did her gaze scurry briefly to Kurt, almost as if she wanted to make sure that he was still standing next to her.

"But they often say that Constantin looks a lot like him," she added, looking back at her older cousin who was laughing at something Green Blood had just told him.

"I do not believe that there is any truth in the rumors that Constantin could be my half-brother," she said and finally looked back at the soldier.

"But I know that Constantin and Emile are the only family I have. Aunt Valerie has made an effort, but I have never felt any connection to her and we both know that Constantin's parents are not even capable of loving their own son. They had even less for an angry nine-year-old," she said.

"I do not know what I would do if I lost one of them. I do not know if I could live in a world where one of them is no longer with me. So: Thank you."

She nodded to him again and a smile fell on her lips, but unlike the hundreds of times he had seen her smile in many ways, it seemed depressed. Her gaze wandered past him out to sea and finally back to the ground. She seemed almost a little lost, as she stood there and said nothing more. For a moment Kurt wanted to go to her to hug her again and hold her tight. There was nothing he could say to her, nothing that could ease the fear she had felt at sea. Yet he stayed where he was. He had once been her teacher, now only her bodyguard. For both positions it was not appropriate behavior.

Eventually she pushed herself slightly off the railing, but before she turned away, she looked at him again: "And, Kurt? I am glad that nothing happened to you either."

Just when he had thought that she would have been done with surprising him today... But if he was honest with himself, they had crossed the line between bodyguard and protégé today anyway, so he could stay a moment longer in this area before they returned to everyday life.

"I can only return that," he replied and nodded slightly to her.

A smile flickered across her face and for a moment a spark of light-heartedness seemed to glimmer in her eyes again, even though it went out almost immediately. She returned the gesture before she turned around and went back to Constantin and Emile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Stay healthy!  
> Finally some fluff today. About time, wasn't it?


	17. Vasco - Of Nauts and Nobles

**Today**

****

The first hours after the white squall had been uneventful, but then a storm had caught up with them, which lasted for three days. Today it had finally settled in the afternoon and in the meantime the deck and sails were mostly dry. Vasco knew that his crew loved life at sea, but such things still hit the mood – though not as much as with the passengers. He had only ever looked briefly after the nobles, who had spent most of their time in the small dining room in front of his cabin, passing the time more or less by playing games, reading stories and playing music. De Sardet and the governor had played on instruments, although Vasco had heard the strings of the ambassador's mandolin more often than the flute of his cousin. They were surprisingly good, even if their songs sounded somewhat different from those the Naut had heard on the ship. At least the four of them had not given the impression of developing a ship's tantrum, as some of the Nauts' passengers sometimes did when they were at sea for too long. When their movement was restricted by storms, quite a few of them tended to want to vent their bad mood on the captain or other members of the crew. Nothing that Vasco would allow, and he was a little grateful that this time he had not put his 'guests' in their place. Although he had only thought about the two d'Orsays anyway. The soldier was certainly ten years older than the Naut himself and had already experienced more situations like this one. And de Sardet was probably just too polite to be rude to anyone. After all, he apologized at every opportunity, even during the conversation when Vasco had wanted to thank him for Flavia's rescue after Lady d'Orsay's return:

_"Lord de Sardet, a word if you have time," the Naut spoke to him._

_The nobleman raised his eyes from his book. The pages were wavy. Apparently it was the book with which he had come onto the quarterdeck before the squall. At least he had not lost it._

_"Of course", he replied and got up on his feet. His cousins, who were sitting nearby playing cards, took a look at them, but they made no attempt to interfere._

_Vasco took a few steps aside before turning to the other man: "Did you use magic to save my crew member earlier?“_

_"I did. How is she?" he asked._

_"She is well, thanks to you. If she had hit the deck, she would have broken a few bones, if not worse. I thank you for saving her," the Naut replied._

_Immediately, something like a guilty expression appeared on the face of the nobleman._

_"I... was lucky. And strictly speaking, I did not obey an order from you quickly enough, for which I would like to apologize," he explained and bowed slightly towards the captain._

_The latter pulled his eyebrows together._

_"You are aware that my crew member could be dead without you?", he went on._

_"I am glad that I could help her. Nevertheless, it does not relieve me of the duty to apologize for my omission," the nobleman explained. But he seemed to be aware of the critical gaze of his counterpart, for shortly afterwards he asked: "Too... courtly?"_

_Vasco nodded._

_"When you save a life, almost any omission is excused," the Naut countered._

_The ambassador raised his shoulders slightly: "Not where I come from. But it is pleasant to know that things are not the same everywhere."_

_In fact, a smile then apprearedon his lips, which seemed a touch more cordial than the one the nobleman had shown during their previous conversations._

_"I can' t speak for other factions," the sailor objected._

_"It is perfectly sufficient if you speak for the Nauts," said Lord de Sardet._

_"That is the duty of the Admiralty. But I can speak for my crew and myself", replied the captain._

_"I would like to hear more about the organisation of the ranks of the Nauts, if you have the time", said the diplomat._

_"What for?"_

_"My cousin would probably call it curiosity, but since I hold the office of Legate, it is my job to mediate between the Congregation and its allies. The more I know about them, the better I can understand their concerns and fulfill my task," explained the nobleman._

_And no matter how hard Vasco tried to find a hint of condescension or pomposity in his words, he found none of it._

_"We can talk about it at the next dinner. That should be tonight, if nothing unforeseen happens," offered the Naut._

_"Thank you," replied the ambassador._

The storm had indeed intervened and Vasco had only exchanged a few words with his passengers on the way to his cabin and out. Nevertheless, he had no time today to catch up on this evening's dinner. He had tapped a barrel of beer to compensate the crew for the last days. Some Nauts sat together and played cards, others had brought out their instruments. Cinda was at the helm, but wanted to be relieved in an hour, which Vasco had assured her of. She had earned an evening off just as much as the rest of his crew, who had done their duty for the last few days without complain. The captain stood at the edge of the glow of one of the lanterns and watched the others as they sat together.  
At that moment the two older nobles strolled past him. The future governor nodded at him, then they continued their way to the musicians who were just about to unpack their instruments.

"Captain Vasco," he heard the ambassador next to him say and turned to him.

"Lord de Sardet," he replied, bowing his head slightly.

"A question, if I may," the Legate began.

The Naut smiled. "You're full of questions, aren't you?"

"I... do not want to bother you", the nobleman quickly turned and made an attempt to follow his relatives.

"You should know that I will tell you if it is the case," the captain reminded the diplomat of a previous conversation between them.

The gaze from the brown eyes of his counterpart seemed uncertain, finally he looked down, cleared his throat and then seemed to try to adopt a more relaxed attitude.

"You said that and I should take you at your word. I wanted to ask you about one of the songs the crew sings over and over again. It is about a love that is so great and so wide that no single heart could ever fully grasp it. It is unpredictable and at the same time constant. And I ask myself: Is this the sea?", he wondered and looked at the man across from him.

Vasco had to admit that he was a little impressed that the nobleman had guessed the meaning of that love. The words "sea" and "ocean" were as absent as "water", "wave" or "tide". Nevertheless, he had his own rules – rules that said that he would not get involved with his crew or passengers. Yet he couldn't resist the temptation to ask, "Are you asking me or are you asking yourself?"

Promptly something like a reddish glimmer seemed to creep into the cheeks of the nobleman. Normally, the Naut would have been unimpressed by such a thing, but de Sardet, despite his title and his otherwise thoroughly polite nature, sometimes seemed so innocent that the captain found increasing pleasure in leading him a little down on the slippery slope. And the ambassador knew where he stood – his female cousin had questioned Vasco about the rules and regulations of sex on the ship during their first dinner together and later his rules on sex on the ship, which had more than shocked both her cousins.

"I wanted to ask you. If this also belongs to things you do not share with outsiders, I apologize," the nobleman explained.

"We may not talk about our... magic, but our songs are no secret," the captain replied. "You are right. It is about the sea. Or seafaring, if you like. It is an explanation why we are always drawn out to sea," he added.

"Are there any others?" the diplomat asked.

"We are good at this – no one can compete with us at sea. And no matter how many doldrums you experience – time at sea always holds an adventure, as you have already experienced first-hand," the captain replied.

"By the sheen of gold – nothing that I would like to experience again so quickly. How you and your crew got us through the squall and this storm deserves admiration," replied the nobleman.

"That? The squall was a little difficult, but the storm was nothing out of the ordinary. We've survived much worse," Vasco countered.

"I... am not sure I would like to see anything worse. I am probably a landlubber through and through," the ambassador admitted, raising his shoulders slightly.

The captain laughed when he heard the other man use the Naut word for all other nations. Most people took it as an insult, but de Sardet had sounded a little resigned but smiled.

"I've met worse landlubbers. After all, you have figured out the secret of the ‚Unsteady, steady one‘ " the captain objected.

"Is that the name of the song?", the legate inquired, whereupon his counterpart nodded.

"It is very nice. And very suitable", said the nobleman.

"I have a book with some of our poems and songs, in case you are interested," offered the Naut, even though a moment later he was no longer sure where this impulse had come from. He had never lent one of his few books to a passenger before.

In reply, he received a smile from the other man, which was as warm as the glow of the lanterns: "I would very much like to read it."

"You... know that you don't have to answer out of courtesy," the captain tried to row back.

The nobleman raised his shoulders again: "As my cousin always says: Can it be read? Then it is definitely something for Emile, whether it be adventure stories or trade contracts."

"Really?", the Naut said.

"Let us just say... contracts are useful. I may not enjoy reading them, but I still find them easier to read than my cousins. I am lucky: the details very often seem to stick in my memory just like that," the diplomat explained.

Before he could reply, the young governor's call echoed over to them: "Emile, they are letting you play along! Get your mandolin!"

"Please, I really do not mean to impose myself," replied the ambassador, but approached the small group.

De Sardet – polite as always. When Vasco had met him at the dock, he had taken him for another typical nobleman. Even after the legate had promised that they would search for the cabin boy Jonas, the Naut had assumed that they would at most ask in the tavern and then return without having done anything. But instead they had stayed away for over an hour, until Vasco had started to think about whether he should send out a search party himself. And what the prince of the congregation would say when he learned that his son and his relatives had been lost in the search for a cabin boy. But then the young governor and the soldier had appeared to assure the Naut that Jonas was free and said goodbye to his parents before he would come back to the ship.

Parents... Nauts did not usually know their family unless they were Nauts' parents themselves. Anyone born on a ship was given to the Nauts because they were a so-called sea-born child. In addition, there were families who made contracts with the seafarers that were so lucrative that the Nauts demanded a child in return. Vasco himself knew nothing about his parents, although he was sea-given, which meant that he had not been born at sea. As Jonas' return to the Cavalo-Marinho had shown, he was originally from Sérène and was the scion of the noble Fontaine family. His father had traded him for a contract, but left Jonas' mother in the dark about it, and now – after almost seventeen years – they had tracked down their child and wanted him back. But Jonas had returned to the Nauts – his real family.

The boy had told more than once how the three cousins had rescued him, always mentioning de Sardet in praise. He had accompanied him to his mother with Amalia d'Orsay after the three nobles had freed the cabin boy from the captivity in one of his father's warehouses. Obviously his father had thought he could hide the boy until the Cavalo-Marinho had left. But the three cousins had managed to find his whereabouts and convince his father to let him go, and the young governor had apparently had an easy time of it with the help of his title. Then the latter had returned to inform Vasco that the other two were taking Jonas to his mother and then back to the ship so that there would be no unpleasant surprises after all.

Since then, Jonas had been very fond of de Sardet, perhaps because of the book he had lent him after a few days' journey. Whenever the two of them were on deck, the ambassador exchanged a few words with the cabin boy and he never seemed impatient or angry. His two cousins rather kept their distance from the crew, as Vasco was used to from his noble passengers. They joined them only when they wanted to pass the time. They were not rude, just inattentive in the usual way. Lady d'Orsay was in the habit of suddenly asking questions when she found something interesting, but apparently she lost the interest just as quickly. The young governor sometimes seemed to be a little more gloomy than his two relatives, but showed this very rarely, although his cousins were always there to cheer him up when they found him in a depressed mood.

Vasco's eyes wandered back to the youngest nobleman, who talked to the musicians and finally nodded. Then he made his way to the cabins, inevitably passing the captain. When their eyes met, an almost clumsy smile appeared on the ambassador's face.

"Your crew is kind enough to let me play along," he explained in passing.

"You saved one of ours," Vasco reminded him as the nobleman was already halfway past him. He turned around and walked slowly backwards: "Then let's hope they will not change their minds because of my playing."

Then he disappeared below deck. And despite the smile on his lips, during the last sentence he had sounded as if he really feared to disappoint the other Nauts with his skill on the mandolin. So he was not only easy on the eyes – especially when he blushed a little – he was still modest. As much as Vasco was looking for it, so far he could not find a catch to this man. It was not the first time he wondered whether his rules were absolutely necessary. But this time he suspected that these rules would save de Sardet and him from a difficult parting in a few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: I'm late this week, sorry. Things are a bit hectic at the moment. I'm trying to keep the rhythm with Friday, but I can't promise that it will always work out that way.  
> I also want to thank Barbarina87 and another guest for the kudos :) I hope all you guys stay on board (pun inteded :P) for more chapters ^^  
> I must confess that Vasco's penchant for poetry (or at least a single poem) surprised me a bit in the game. Nevertheless, I wanted to include this interest. Besides, I'm thankful for every bit of information I get about hobbies and other pastimes of companions ^^.  
> Have a good start into the upcoming week!


	18. Kurt – (Not) A Dance

**Today**

Kurt stood at the edge of the light of a lantern and looked over to the Nauts and Green Blood who had gathered around it. Constantin put a hand on his cousin's shoulder and said, "Let's hear it, dear cousin!"

After the white squall – that was apparently the name given to this type of brief storm that had taken them by surprise almost two weeks ago – the Nauts had invited the young nobleman to join them with his mandolin. The soldier had the impression that it was related to the rescue of Flavia, who would probably have been hit on the deck and wounded, if not worse, had it not been for Emile's magic. The young man had gratefully accepted the invitation and what had, at first, seemed like a one-time thing, now appeared to last longer. Since that night, if one could sit on deck, he sat with them in the evening and played together with them.

Emile exchanged a glance with the other musicians, who nodded slightly at him. Then he began to play a lively tune. Still a bit too squiggly for Kurt's taste, but far better than most things he had had to listen to at some balls. Shortly after that the other two started. Maybe they were playing by ear, the soldier didn't understand such things. To him, it only had to sound halfway good, and that it did.

He felt a touch on his right hand, which was lifted shortly afterwards. When he turned, he saw Amal smiling at him, saying, "Might I have this dance?"

"In all these years, have you ever seen me dance?" he objected.

Her smile widened slightly as she raised her shoulders, not letting go of his hand, and replied, "There is a first time for everything."

"Soldiers in general are not good dancers. Especially since the common people do it a little differently than you do at your balls," he objected.

"I did not only dance at balls," she returned.

That was true. He had met her twice by chance in a tavern when he was off duty. And once she had danced with some fellow she had later disappeared with.

"That still doesn't make me a dancer," he objected.

Amal pulled her eyebrows together a little, but took a step towards him.

"Is it that you simply do not want to dance, or ... you do not want to dance with me?" she asked, her fingers seeming to wrap a little tighter around his hand. Almost as if she feared that he would pull his hand back.

What he should have done long ago. And yet he did not.

"I'm really no good at this," he replied.

"You do no need to. I am not that good at it, either," she said.

"Save your lies for court," he replied, as always when he caught her doing it. "You may sometimes deliberately make such a mistake, but when you dance with the other two greenhorns, you make no slip ups," he continued before she could object. Which she hadn't done for a while, though, when he exposed her shenanigans.

Her gaze flickered briefly onto the planks before she looked at him again.

"You could learn something from me for a change," she offered.

"So you can tease me about it forever? No, thanks," he held against it.

"I would not. Not in this case," promised Amal immediately.

He studied her. Kurt hadn't danced in years – another thing he'd done a couple of times with Fayette. He knew how clumsy he was about it.

"I'd only step on your feet," he tried again, but her smile, which had been fading away before, only flared up again.

"Never mind. You do not have to move much", she replied.

Amal took a step back, this time to the beat of the music, so that his and her arms were stretched out. But she stayed in this position for only a moment. Then she turned in Kurt's direction, with her arm around her and then his. A blink of an eye later she stood in front of him and her back pressed lightly against his chest. Her touches were gentle and at the same time light-hearted. None of this he had expected, but even less had he ever expected to hold her in his arms as he did at that moment. For the length of one blink he felt an almost uncontrollable need to put the other arm around her and just keep holding her. But then she grabbed his hand with her other one and turned away from him in the other direction before she turned away under their hands once more. Only then did she stop, still with a smile on her lips, though not as wide as before. It almost seemed a little uncertain.

"You really do not enjoy this, do you?" she asked and mustered him.

Kurt shook his head.

Amal took a breath before she looked down at his hand, which she still held on to, before she looked at him again and approached him so that their arms were no longer outstretched.

"Or... would you rather be left alone? Because I am actually part of your job?" she wanted to know.

The soldier looked at her. In the old days, she would never have thought about such things.

"Where did that come from?" he asked her.

"From Emile. When you took us out of the Guard Tavern, he said we ruined your night off. And strictly speaking, your evenings are free during the crossing. And... he remarked the other day that we should not keep you occupied all the time," she explained.

"It's a ship. We can't really avoid each other here," he objected, which made her raise her eyebrows.

"Besides, I would tell you if you got on my nerves," he added, just when it seemed as if she wanted to take a step back.

Then the hint of a smile settled on her lips.

"True. That is one of the qualities I like most about you: You say what you think and I never have to worry about how it is meant. Much easier than all those things at court," she said, raising her shoulders slightly.

Kurt pulled his eyebrows together a little, but tried not to let the surprise show. She had never said she liked anything about him before.

But as if their conversation was over, she took another half step towards him and turned to the side to look at the musicians. The guardsman did the same as she did. But she did not let go of his hand. Had she... forgotten?

On the other hand – it was not unusual for her to hold one or both cousins like that. She had said that Kurt belonged to them – even though he almost didn't want to believe that she meant that he belonged so much. Or was she trying to trick him in some way?

It was Constantin's enthusiastic voice that tore him out of his brooding: "Amalia! I see your dancing partner was not exactly... thrilled. Would you care to dance with me?"

The young nobleman stood not far from his cousin, half turned towards her. At the last words he stretched out his arm in her direction and bowed. A thoroughly courteous gesture that Kurt could never imitate in such a way. Even if he wanted to.

"With pleasure", replied Amal.

The soldier felt her release his hand and only then did he allow himself to look to the side, but by then Amal had already approached her cousin and placed her hand in his.

"Excellent! So, my dear – may I lead?", he inquired.

"You may," she agreed with a resigned laugh, while Constantin led her a little further onto the deck.

Then the two of them lined up, as Kurt had seen them do about a dozen times before, and began to move light-footedly across the planks. Another thing the mercenary couldn't do.

Almost instantly, the music changed. Both nobles paused for a moment, then immediately started again. This time their steps were longer, while they kept moving away from each other – but instantly towards each other again. Had Kurt not known beforehand that Amal had lied when she claimed she couldn't do it – this would have been the proof.

He heard her laugh as she turned away from Constantin once more: "You realize that this is actually a courtship dance?"

Her cousin pushed one arm behind her back and put his hand on her hip, while Amal put her arm around his shoulder and they turned together.

"Of course. It is for celebrating an engagement, if I remember correctly. And we have seen that at weddings too," he said.

The young woman released her hand from his shoulder and moved it along his arm, while Constantin also made this gesture. How had Amal gotten the idea that Kurt could do something like that?

"We spend the rest of our days together without such ceremonies," she replied with a grin.

"You sound very sure. You do not know what plans they have for us after Teer Fradee," her cousin objected, although something like uncertainty seemed to resonate in his voice. The soldier could not blame him. As a mercenary he could not necessarily choose his duties either, but after all those years in the palace he was more than convinced that it was better to belong to the Guard than to the nobles of the Congregation.

"That is true. But I know that I will not give in to their plans if they try to take me away from Emile or you. Someone reminded me that I do not have to obey for that," she replied, still with a smile on her lips, while her cousin turned her around. This time they were facing each other but shifted and each had placed one hand on the other's hip. As Amal let Constantin turn her, her eyes fell on Kurt and for a moment the soldier felt as if her smile widened. He had told her that, a couple of weeks ago, at the last ball that had taken place in the palace before the departure. Then Constantin and she kept whirling around each other and she seemed to have eyes only for her dancing partner again.

Only then did the guard notice that he had been looking at her the whole time. He turned his eyes away to look for a few card players. Perhaps then the place at his side would not seem so strangely empty to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: Thanks to guest Nr. 9 for the kudos :)  
> If someone feels reminded of a certain, former templar by Kurt's "Soldiers in general are not good dancers." reminded... well, he might have been an inspiration for this chapter ;) Have a nice weekend!


	19. Constantin – Theatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For today's chapter, I borrowed a few lines from a well-known play and adapted them. On the one hand I didn't want to use the lines one-to-one, because I would find it strange if e.g. in a Lord of the Rings fanfiction Hamlet is suddenly quoted completely original. In addition, I transferred the names of the main characters into French, because I simply made Javelot (which means "spear") out to be a poet of the Congregation. On the other hand, some of the words didn't fit, because as far as I know, there are no angels in the world of GreedFall.  
> Now I hope you enjoy one of the most theatrical chapters of this story ;)

**Today**

Amalia looked up from the book in her hand and her gaze met that of Constantin, who waited impatiently for his cousin to read the reply so that he could read the next text.

"This really is unbelievable nonsense," she said.

"No complaints, my dear. You refused to read the woman's parts," he reminded her and smiled at her over his edition.

"But he has already kissed her. Why all this sneaking around in the garden?" the young woman objected.

He threw a glance at Emile, which the latter returned with a slight shrug.

"It seems that our dear cousin does not understand the romantic aspect of all this," said Constantin.

"He can just go up to her and get his leg over her," the noblewoman objected.

"Amalia!", it slipped the young prince's mouth.

"She is only fourteen," Emile reminded her.

"Then... let him kiss her again, and be done with it. How many more acts does this play have?" she wanted to know and turned a few pages forward, her eyebrows narrowing visibly. Constantin had to smile a little: He was sure that Amalia was not aware of this reaction on her part.

"Three?!" Her eyes wandered to Emile and the young governor did the same. Their youngest cousin had been in a gloomy state of mind for the last few days, but since they had begun to read the play by Javelot, his mood seemed to brighten. Constantin was glad to see an amused smile on his lips.

"You do not have to do this," the ambassador said as he approached Amalia and reached out a hand to take the book from her.

"No way. She has agreed to read with us. We just have to motivate her a little," the future regent argued and let his gaze wander over the deck of the ship.

The day was quiet. If one disregarded the storm a few days ago, their journey so far had been almost monotonous. Which was why they had decided to read Javelot's works with assigned parts. At least officially. Because unofficially, they had also wanted to cheer up Emile. And Constantin knew that Malia felt the same way, even if they hadn't talked about it before. Nevertheless, he would have to keep her entertained if this was not going to be the last work of Javelot that they performed.

"Maybe we can make it a little more exciting..." he murmured until his gaze touched the railing and an idea came to his mind. He quickly turned to his two relatives.

"Dearest cousins, we are going to perform it, not just read it," he explained. Then he turned quickly and climbed up the railing, right under the rope ladders leading up to the sails. He climbed up the first two cross braces before trying to push his arm through one of the loops. But he missed. He felt himself tipping towards the ocean and his stomach seemed to sink even faster in the same direction.

"Constantin!" it escaped Amalia, who leapt forward. He also noticed a purple glow when Emile conjured up his magic, but then he had gotten hold of one of the ropes with his free hand. It took him a moment before he had found a secure footing, then he breathed out as calmly as possible.

"All is well, my dears. No need to get excited. Now, Romain, to your position," he said and smiled encouragingly at the two of them, even though his insides felt more stirred up than the sea in his back. Amalia took a few steps back.

"I will not read the whole beginning again," she said, lifting her gaze once more from the book in her hand which she had looked down on before.

"Just be amazed by my appearance," Constantin replied and made a sweeping gesture with his left hand, with which he did not cling to the ropes, slightly throwing his head back.

Amalia laughed softly before she began to read again: " _And what jewellery is she wearing there on her neck? Oh, if only I were that necklace, and could nestle myself so gently against her neck!_ "

" _Oh, poor me,_ " Constantin then let himself be heard in a high voice, trying to achieve a particularly theatrical tone when he read the lines of the languishing Julie. He heard a soft laugh from Malia's direction and as his gaze flitted towards Emile, he noticed that his cousin was smiling. Not polite or interested or resigned, but liberated as he had not been in days.

At that moment Malia continued half whispering: " _Listen! She speaks! Oh, speak again, fairest of the fair!_ "

" _Oh, Romain. Why Romain? Take off your father's name. And if you do not, swear your eternal love to me and I will no longer be a Capon,_ " continued the future regent in the role of Julie Capon. Then his gaze wandered to Amalia, who read the next lines from Romain Montagne – scion of the family with whom the Capons had always had a bloody feud – " _Do I continue to listen to her words or shall I reveal myself?_ "

Immediately thereafter Constantin replied in a high voice: " _It is only a name – Montagne! It is neither hand nor foot, nor face! And would a flower not smell just as lovely, even if it had a different name? So Romain, even if you had a different name, you would still keep his dear perfection. Even without the title. Oh Romain, put down your name and take all of mine instead._ "

"At least she is right about this name thing," said Amalia, looking down at her book.

"No comments, my dear," the future governor urged her.

"Why? At court there is always someone talking," she held against it and looked at her elder cousin.

The young prince stretched out his hand, in which he was still holding the opened book, towards their other cousin: "And you do not think that our dearest cousin deserves to hear the plays of his favourite poet without interruption for once?"

Thereupon there was a guilty flash of light in her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced briefly at the planks before continuing in the role of Romain Montagne who was in love: " _I am relying on it. I no longer want to be called Romain._ "

When she looked at him again, he gave her a consenting smile before reading on as Julie: " _Who is it who pushes his way into my heart in the dark?_ "

" _I cannot give you a name, for it, oh shining light, is your enemy and I despise it,_ " replied Amalia, walking resolutely towards Constantin, until she had to take her head a little to the back of her neck to look up at her cousin standing on the railing. Much like Romain, who walked through the garden towards the balcony where his beloved was sighing at the stars.

" _I hardly heard a hundred words from those lips, but I suspect who it is: is it you, Romain, the Montagne?_ " let Constantin hear in a high voice and shielded his eyes with his free hand as he searched the deck and his gaze finally caught on his cousin.

" _I will not be it if one of them displeases you,_ " Amalia fervently countered, holding her edition of the collected works higher so that she could look at her acting partner sooner. Her gaze wandered over the edge of the book towards him.

" _How did you find your way here? And why are you here? The wall is so high, even dangerous to climb. If one of my cousins saw you here!_ ", Constantin continued to lament.

He heard a soft laugh and his gaze wandered briefly to Emile, who had put his fist over his mouth. But it was not enough to hide the cheerful expression on his face.

"Are you laughing because we are making such a fuss or because our cousins would rather encourage us in this situation?" Malia asked him.

"Both," Emile replied, still smiling but a bit too fast.

In the last few days their younger cousin had been in a much worse mood. He hadn't wanted to talk about it until Constantin had finally got it out of him:

_"Cousin, what is it?", the future governor called out for the third time today when he approached him. Emile had dismissed the other times and even asked them for forgiveness for his gloomy mood. As if he would ever have to do such a thing to them. He had retired to the quarterdeck a while ago._

_Amalia and Constantin had finally followed him. Both agreed that it wasn't one of the usual phases in which their cousin needed some time for himself and that he looked out to sea, which stretched behind the ship, suggested that he wasn't here to watch the captain either. His two elder cousins had also briefly discussed this affection of him, but they had decided not to speak to Emile about it for the time being._

_When they reached him now, he turned to them and let his gaze wander from one to the other. Then he loosened his scarf and gave it to his female cousin, before he grabbed his collar again and pulled out an amulet from under his tunic._

_"What is this?" Amalia wanted to know and came closer._

_"I do not know," he replied. Emile hesitated for a moment, then took a step away from the railing and removed the jewel. He handed it to Constantin._

_"It looks like an amulet, but... it seems to be made of stone," said the latter, who lifted it into the sunlight to have a better look at it. The gem was round, and various lines had been carved into it, some straight, others like wavy or serpentine lines. The future governor had never seen anything like it before._

_"This pattern is not exactly matching the necklace," he continued before looking at his youngest cousin._

_"I assume that the necklace did not originally belong to it," he explained, while Constantin handed the pendant to Amalia, who in turn looked at it._

_"Where did you get it?" she wanted to know and looked back at Emile._

_"My mother gave it to me when I left. She said it was a family heirloom," he explained quietly._

_The young noblewoman narrowed her brows a little. Constantin also found this answer strange. What was it supposed to represent? It did not seem to be jewelry in the conventional sense._

_"Could it be some kind of congregational seal? Or of the house de Sardet?", the young noblewoman inquired after she had examined the amulet again._

_"You really believe that our cousin would have missed this?", Constantin followed up a little amused. Emile had been the best at heraldry all these years. He had even found ways to get his cousins to memorize most seals and coats of arms._

_"It is not a coat of arms known to me. But I do not know them all," the ambassador objected._

_"But the pendant is only half of it, is it not?", the prospective regent asked softly, just as Amalia was handing the gem over to her younger cousin._

_Emile looked down at it before he put it around his neck again and let it disappear under his tunic._

_"A little. It... has been eight weeks since my mother lost her last eyesight," he finally said, looking at them again._

_Constantin and Amalia approached him and embraced him while Emile took a quiet, trembling breath. The vast majority of the people suffering from the Malichor died within six weeks of complete blindness._

Constantin had no idea what it was like to lose one parent, let alone his second. Something that had always distinguished him from his two cousins, ever since they were born. Which made it all the more important for him to be there for them in such difficult times. So he had asked Amalia to read Javelot. The fact that she agreed immediately, even though she thought the plays had far too much text for far too little plot, showed that she knew what it was all about.

"You think we are making absolute fools of ourselves," she concluded, grinning.

"A... little," Emile still admitted with a smile.

"Then I hope that we will continue to live up to this high standard," Constantin joined in from the railing and bowed his head graciously towards his two relatives. He would have bowed, if he hadn't still been busy holding on to the ropes, in order not to lose his grip.

"But I can only do that when Romain finally reads on," he continued and his eyes wandered to Amalia.

"Right. Where were we?", she looked at the pages and finally found the lines that followed. She laughed softly before clearing her throat and reading out: " _The gentle wings of love carried me. No man-made bulwark is high enough that they could not overcome it. Neither could your cousins stop me._ "

Constantin immediately replied in a high, dismayed sounding voice: " _They would kill you if they saw you!_ "

" _It would be more dangerous if you were not of good mind to me. Your friendly look alone is armor enough for me against their hatred,_ " Amalia countered, making a particularly theatrical gesture first toward her elder cousin and then toward the imaginary, attacking Capon cousins.

Constantin's gaze once more went over Emile's face, in whose brown eyes lay an amused sparkle. At last. For the smile on his face, he would read through all of Javelot's works, if necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos from last week, dear guest :)  
> I hope you all could laugh a few times today :) I had a lot of fun rewriting Shakespeare. I hope it worked for you and didn't cause any break with the world of GreedFall. That's why I had written notes at the beginning of the chapter today.  
> This chapter is the last one of the crossing, because I want to continue the plot and also the romances on the island. I'm taking this opportunity to take another break for a few weeks. Posting the chapters in two languages is more exhausting than I thought it would be. At the moment the upload puts me rather under pressure, in the past I was always looking forward to it. So I'm taking some time and trying to figure out how to manage it better.  
> Stay healthy, be patient with yourself and others, and have a good time!


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